


Welcome to the Fright Zone

by anyonesaunt, xandrillia



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Apocalypse, Attempt at Humor, Emily is a Car, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Happy Ending, Light Hope is a Tree, Love Confessions, Ouch, POV Adora (She-Ra), POV Catra (She-Ra), Promises, Sea Hawk being Sea Hawk, Self-Destructive Behavior, Slow Burn, Zombie Blood and Gore, and a little save the cat, arson is a declaration of love, be bi commit arson, be gay do crimes, catradora, dear lord catra go the fuck to sleep, heart part two, oh fuck, sad warning :(, someone gets infected, spoilers here on out, the MOST homoerotic fight scene you've ever read in your LIFE, the fright zone is an arcade, they're finally in the same room together, theydobegaytho, when we said slow burn we meant it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 50,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25560502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anyonesaunt/pseuds/anyonesaunt, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xandrillia/pseuds/xandrillia
Summary: “If the apocalypse starts, come find me.”Adora laughs nervously. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I will.”Catra takes one last look before turning away. Adora watches her go.Or: Adora and Catra become enemies during the zombie apocalypse, making their own separate ways through the new world before circumstances draw them together.
Relationships: Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra), background Glimmer/Bow
Comments: 270
Kudos: 476





	1. Launch

**Author's Note:**

> Titles from She-Ra episodes. Updates daily, tags with updates to avoid spoilers.
> 
> si alguien quiere leer en español, [aqui](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26592070/chapters/64834456) es el enlace, traducción por [bibifi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibifi/pseuds/bibifi) :) muchas gracias!!

Adora wakes up with a start as the room around her begins to shake. 

It takes her a minute to remember where she is, why she’s strapped to a chair, and why the room is moving. 

_You’re on a plane, dummy,_ says the voice in her head. _Calm down. It’s just turbulence._

The realization doesn’t calm her down, though. The plane is bumping an awful lot, and she’s running on only an hour of sleep. She sighs and searches for something, anything, to distract her mind. 

“Would you like a drink?” 

Adora looks up. It’s a flight attendant. She’s speaking softly, as the girl sitting next to Adora is still sound asleep. 

“No, thank you,” Adora says politely, before noticing the pile of newspapers on her cart. “I’ll take a newspaper, though.” 

“No problem.” The attendant hands her the paper with a smile. Before she can wheel her cart away, there’s a staticy sound on her radio. The attendant pulls it out of her pocket and listens for a moment. Her face goes pale, and she dashes down the aisle, leaving her cart behind. 

Adora watches, confused. _Huh. That was weird._

She turns her attention to the newspaper. 

The headlines aren’t as comforting as she was hoping. They haven’t been for weeks. 

**HORDE VIRUS NOW CONFIRMED IN 5 CONTINENTS,** screams the first page, then, under that, **NEW SYMPTOMS REPORTED AS VIRUS MUTATES.**

The plane hits another bout of violent turbulence, and Adora bounces in her seat. After a few deep breaths to steady herself, she decides to keep reading, just for something to do.

_The Horde Virus now has been found in 5 continents,_ reads the article, _leaving Greenland and Antarctica as the only two areas without any confirmed cases. Scientists believe that the virus, which was first recorded in insects and rodents in rural farming communities across the globe, has recently mutated for the worse, noting that strange new symptoms are arising in recently infected patients..._

For the worse? Adora struggles to imagine how the Horde Virus could _be_ any worse. After all, it has been proven to affect the patient’s brain in stunning ways. She’s heard stories of Horde patients losing motor function, forgetting their own names and the names of their family, and even a few stories of patients biting their doctors. It’s all very strange. Most are comparing it to a new strand of rabies, a cure yet to be found.

She skims the next few lines: _losing the ability to speak...violent tendencies...dilated pupils, completely crowding out the iris, causing an aversion to light…_

The most interesting development, though, seems to be the fever: _Doctors are reporting fevers topping 45 degrees Celsius (113 degrees Fahrenheit), a temperature humans can not be expected to survive. “We have not yet determined how Horde patients continue to function at extreme internal body temperatures,” says Dr. Diego Falcon, head of the WHO. “It may have something to do with the virus itself_ — _which has been known to thrive in warmer clients_ — _being the very thing keeping the patients alive.”_

_This statement, released early Monday morning, has caused some to speculate on whether or not Horde patients are alive at all. Conspiracy theorist and Youtuber Peekablue, who speaks to an audience of over 1 million subscribers, has popularized the belief that the mutated virus strand actually kills its host quite early after the initial infection. Peekablue claims that once the host has died, the virus takes over the patient’s brain function, providing the illusion of life. This theory would explain why patients with the mutated virus lose linguistic function and behave erratically and violently. Medical professionals have so far refused to denounce such a claim..._

“Where’d the flight attendant go?” 

Adora’s head shoots up from the paper, and she hits her head on the back of her seat — “ _ouch”_ — before turning to the source of the voice. 

It’s a girl, the girl sitting next to her, who hasn’t talked to her throughout the entire flight. Judging by her messed-up hair, she only woke up moments ago, and she’s smiling sweetly and waiting for a response. However, Adora is too focused on her eyes — two different colors, blue and yellow — to process what she just said. _Woah._

The girl’s eyes squint, shocking Adora back into reality. She shakes her head. “Um, what?” 

“I _said,_ where did the flight attendant go?” She smiles again, her teeth almost unnaturally pointy. Then, before Adora can craft a response: “Oh, sorry. Where are my manners? I’m Catra, what’s your name?” 

_Catra._ The small part of Adora’s brain that’s functioning notes that it’s a perfect name for her. She’s just sitting and watching Adora, but Adora can tell already that Catra’s just _waiting_ to tease her, watchful and grinning. Still, Adora can’t help but notice that she’s actually really pretty and definitely looking Adora over, which just serves to make Adora flustered, because _wow_ if there’s one thing she’s bad at, it’s chatting with cute girls.

The whole interaction, even though it’s just begun, is making Adora panic. She tries to remember the last question the girl asked, but can only remember the first one, the one about the flight attendant, which she luckily knows the answer to. Adora begins to speak, but she gets lost in her eyes again, and her pre-planned response comes out in a nervous stutter: “She ra...er, she ran in...she ra-”

“She-Ra? Your name is She-Ra?” interrupts the girl, grinning, joking with Adora like she’s known her her whole life. 

“She-Ra? No, my name is—I was _trying_ to say that she ran that way, to the cockpit—” 

“Nice to meet you, She-Ra,” Catra responds with a twinkle in her eye. “Interesting name.” 

Adora laughs awkwardly, unsure of how to react to the joke. “Haha, no, actually, I’m—” 

“Sorry, princess, if I could just reach past you real quick—” Catra extends her arm past Adora to open the window. It’s dark outside, city lights flash below instead of the clouds they saw early in the flight. “Huh. I thought we might be beginning the descent.” 

“Huh?” says Adora, dizzied by the sudden topic shift. 

“I could feel that the plane was descending. That’s weird. We’re, like, an hour from our destination.” Catra settles back into her seat, the confusion on her face quickly shifting to a smile as she turns back to Adora. “So, She-Ra, what business do you have in Plumeria?” 

“Business? Oh, um, just...vacation?” 

“You sure about that?” Catra responds. “That sounded like a question to me.” 

“Oh—um, yeah, I’m pretty sure—” 

“Pretty sure? If I were you, I might want to figure out that before we land...” She thrums her fingers against her thigh, looks Adora up and down. “... _princess.”_

Adora sweats at the attention. _Is this flirting? Am I being flirted with? How do you flirt?_ “Uh...haha, you’re probably right.” _Ask her a question._ “Um...why are you going to Plumeria?” 

“Live there,” Catra says simply, then changes the subject. “Whatchu reading?” 

“Oh—” Adora looks down at the newspaper. “Just the news.” 

“Huh. Any new developments?” She takes the paper from Adora’s hands, looking at the headlines. 

“Yeah, actually. Apparently, some people think that Horde patients are already dead. That the virus killed them, and then took over their bodies.” 

Catra’s ears perk up. “Like, zombies or something?” 

“Um, I guess so.” Adora shudders. “I don’t want to think about it like that.” 

“The world’s a scary place, princess.” She smiles mischievously. “Even pretty girls like you have to be prepared for the apocalypse.” 

Adora blushes a deep red. “You don’t _really_ think there will be an apocalypse—” 

“If the rumors about the virus are true, I see no reason why not.” She extends her hand and looks at her nails — long and pointy. “It’s about time.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing. Just...I had a weird upbringing, that’s all.” She sighs. “You wouldn’t get it, princess.” 

“Stop calling me princess,” Adora mumbles. “Makes me sound weak.” 

“Who said you’re weak?” 

Adora shrugs. “It’s just...princesses are always the rulers of flowers, or sparkles, or whatever. There’s no princess of...I don’t know, power.” 

“I guess you’ll have to be the first one, then.” Catra smirks. “She-Ra, the Princess of Power.” 

Adora is crafting a response when the plane jerks violently again. Once it settles, Catra turns her attention to the open window. “Look.” 

“What?” When Adora swivels her head to peer out the glass, and she’s surprised by what she sees: the plane is extremely close to the ground. “They...they wouldn’t land the plane early without telling us, right?” 

In that exact moment, the loudspeakers crackle as the pilot turns them on. “This is your captain speaking. Due to unforeseen circumstances, we are making an emergency landing in the city of Etheria. Please remain seated until the plane has reached a complete stop.” 

_Etheria? I’ve never even heard of that place._

The passengers immediately cry out in protest, but the flight attendant, who has all emerged from the cockpit, forces everyone to calm down. “Please remain seated! The situation is out of our hands. We will relay more information to you as we receive it. Thank you!” 

Adora is too shocked to complain, instead remaining stone-faced as she considers the multitude of terrifying reasons they may have stopped. She tries to convince herself it’s just routine maintenance, or bad weather, but the paper in Catra’s lap seems to be telling her it’s something worse. 

When it’s her and Catra’s turn to exit the plane, Catra turns to her one last time. “Great meeting you, She-Ra.” She extends her hand. Adora shakes it, expecting Catra to turn around and walk down the aisle afterwards. Instead, she just stands there for a moment, even reaching out to straighten Adora’s jacket. “If the apocalypse starts, come find me.” 

Adora laughs nervously. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I will.” 

Catra takes one last look before turning on her heel and dashing towards the exit. 

🗡️

The airport is extremely chaotic, as one would expect. After all, she overhears from an employee that over thirty airplanes full of passengers have emergency landed here, overwhelming the airport. 

“Why didn’t they go a few miles north?” answers the other employee. “Or even southeast? There’s airports there, too, and they’re in bigger cities. Wouldn’t that make more sense?” 

“I don’t know,” responds the other. “Apparently they couldn’t get in contact with them.”

As Adora attempts to navigate the unfamiliar building and find her luggage, she overhears dozens of other conversations.

“I heard that it’s a terrorist attack. That entire cities are blown off the map.” 

“My cousin lives in Hunterville and he says that there are, like, crazy people running through the streets. He thinks it’s someone’s military.” 

“They’re apparently evacuating my home city. And all the cities around it. Like, the mayors got on the TV and told everyone to run. I don’t believe it, though.”

Adora gets lost in the chaos on the way to her luggage carousel. The walk, which should have taken five minutes, takes her almost twenty. Once she reaches it, it’s entirely deserted. The only bag left is hers, which she hauls off the conveyor belt. 

When she turns around, the once bustling airport now contains only a few scattered travelers, all talking on the phone and running out the doors, panicked looks on their faces.

“Let’s get a taxi,” says one passenger to the woman she’s exiting the airport with. “We can split the cost.” 

_Huh. That’s not a terrible idea._

She begins dragging her suitcase through the empty building, looking for any nice-looking person to talk to and convince to split a ride fare with her. However, the once busy airport is now lifeless. Even the employees have all left. She’s just about to give up and maybe find a hotel to stay at when she notices someone. 

_Catra._

She’s standing in front of an abandoned coffee shop, taking scones off of the display shelves and shoving them into her suitcase. If Adora was thinking clearly, she’d probably think that was weird, but she was just so grateful to see her that she didn’t even question it. 

“Catra!” 

Her head shoots up, seeing Adora across the room and freezing. 

“It’s me! Ado—er, She-Ra!” 

Catra doesn’t respond. In fact, she looks anxious. She zips up her suitcase in one fluid movement and leaps behind the counter, dashing into the back of the store and, based on the sirens and flashing lights that start wailing in the next moment, out the emergency exit. 

_Huh?_

_I thought you two had a thing going._

“Me too,” Adora says quietly. 

_Well, there’s nothing left to do but leave._

She nods, straightens up in an attempt to create confidence, and starts walking.

There’s no airport security, and no one’s operating the screening area, so she has no trouble getting out and entering the vast city. She expected it to be bustling with activity, but it, too, is deserted. She wonders how all of the passengers got out so fast, and begins to wonder if all the hotels will be booked up. 

She wanders the streets of the dark city for almost an hour. Most buildings are empty, the lights dimmed and the doors locked tight, but she travels on. Eventually, she starts humming quietly to calm herself, as even the owls have stopped hooting. The city is quiet around her, a shocking difference to her bustling home. Something about the absence of noise is off-putting.

Eventually, her tired legs tell her she’s wandered enough. 

_You’re exhausted. Just find a payphone. Call a hotel._

“Payphone? Do I even have any coins?” She pats her jacket pockets, feeling for her wallet. 

That’s odd. Nothing. 

She pats them again, to be sure. No wallet. 

She reaches into her back pocket, her front pockets, her purse. She even opens her suitcase right there on the dirty sidewalk in the desperate search. 

_No, no. It’s not in the suitcase. You had it on the flight, remember? To pay for those snacks._

“Then why isn’t it in my jacket?! I’m the only person who touched it, except for—” 

_Oh._

“Catra.” 

Adora remembers suddenly, painfully, that Catra patted her jacket before she left. She thought it was odd. Then, when she saw her again in the airport, she ran away...guilty. 

“Catra...took my wallet.” Adora’s mouth drops open in shock. “She was just talking to me so she could...pickpocket me.” 

She sniffs. 

“And I fell for it.” 

_It doesn’t matter. She’s long gone by now. You have to focus. Find a phone._

Adora stands there a moment longer, swaying, hurt and confused. How could she do that? 

_Adora!_

“Wh—oh...yeah. A phone.” She wipes her nose on her jacket, dusts off her pants. “Find a phone.” 

She looks around her, surveys her surroundings. The buildings are tall and intimidating, but she’s walked so far that she’s almost out of the city and, only a few buildings away is a tiny, run-down bar that looks empty. 

_Check there._

“Yeah. I’ll...I’ll check there.” She dejectedly starts making her way to the storefront. _The Crimson Waste,_ reads the sign. _That’s a funny name._

She’s surprised at her luck when she finds the door unlocked. She takes a few timid steps inside the small, musty place, calling out just in case there are a few patrons remaining. 

“Hello?” 

The only thing that answers her is the wailing static of a television set sitting on a table. With nothing else to do, Adora sits in front of it, messing with the antenna for a few moments until it picks something up. 

The news. At least, it must be the news. It’s grainy cell phone footage, taken from outside of someone’s house. Through the windows, people limp through the street in giant clusters — hordes? — in the same direction. They look injured, beat up, but they’re still moving quickly. The footage cuts out to another video, this one of a panicked young woman. Her eyes are completely dilated, so much so, that it almost seems like they’re pure black. She shouts at the camera, but the audio is distorted and only her distress comes through. Holding up a hand, she backs away from the person holding the camera, retching and sweating. And then the video cuts again — an overview of a highway, overcrowded with cars. Figures weave through parked and crashed cars, breaking windows and pulling drivers out of their seats. Some run to the woods, away from the violent ones, and some attempt to fight back. They don’t look successful. 

When the footage cuts back to the news anchors, they’re both silent for a moment. They look at one another, as if saying, _who should speak?_

The woman, dressed in a tattered pantsuit, begins with a sigh. “What you’ve just seen is cell phone video sent in by viewers all across the country. They say it’s happening everywhere, especially in cities with major hospitals that were treating victims of the Horde virus.” 

The man speaks up. “We have multiple reports that the perpetrators of the mass violence are, in fact, the victims themselves. Described as brain dead and nearly indestructible, these former patients have been escaping their confines and wreaking havoc worldwide.” 

“Bystanders claim that these patients, referred to by many as ‘hordes’, seem to be primarily focused on capturing and biting humans. Once bitten, the virus seems to be transferred to the new host.” 

“It is believed that when a human is bitten by a horde, they, too, will eventually transform into a z…” he trails off, not wanting to say it. 

The woman tentatively takes over. “Although the incubation period of the virus is yet unknown, we encourage everyone to flee urban areas and to isolate yourself if bitten.” 

There’s a beat of silence. 

She looks into the camera. 

“May God be with us all.”  
The screen goes black. 

_Zombies. He was going to say zombies._

“I know.” 

_You have to run._

“...I know.”


	2. In the Shadows of Mystacor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the comments on the last chapter!! we didn’t facetime and cry like we said because we were together when we saw them, but we there was a fair bit of shouting, so. there’s that. we’re really happy y’all like it so far, let us know what you think of this ch!! also, if u ever want to chat here's my [twitter](https://twitter.com/xandrillia) \- xandrillia

“Catra!” 

Catra jumps at the shout, and then turns. Once she’d noticed people were abandoning the airport, she’d decided to stick around until the crowds cleared to snatch a few items. Even though the stores are unguarded and there’s no one to care about the theft, she feels a small stab of guilt at being caught red-handed.

It’s the blonde girl, from the plane. Standing in the middle of the empty Etherian airport like she’s in the end scene of some cheesy romance movie, waving like an idiot and dragging a massive suitcase. She misreads Catra’s shock as confusion, and identifies herself: “It’s me! Ado—er, She-Ra!”

Catra can’t tell from this far away, but she thinks She-Ra might be angry. Catra feels the stolen wallet in her pocket and realizes  _ — she might know I took this.  _

Without wasting another second, Catra springs over the counter and pushes open the first door she can find — an emergency exit, and she cringes at the echoing alarms — immediately entering a crowd of people running in the same direction. 

“Where are you all going?” she yells at the crowd. She doesn’t expect a response, but gets one from a tired man dragging three cranky kids along with him.

“Bus stop,” he yells. “Last one out of town. They’re saying we have to get out of the city.” 

Catra’s not one to argue with a voice with that much urgency. Without a second thought, she joins the crowd. 

On the bus, Catra flips through She-Ra’s wallet, somewhat disappointed with the win. The girl on the plane had been a little dorky but sweet all the same, and Catra had enjoyed their conversation, even if it was a con. She comes across her ID — Adora Randor from Bright Moon, the town Catra had visited on her work trip. Opposite her ID is a picture of little She-Ra (blonde hair tied into the same ponytail from the plane, gap between her front teeth and grinning like there’s nowhere else in the world she’d rather be), her arm slung around an older girl. The other girl (her sister? A friend?) sports a fake doctor’s outfit, dressed up for Halloween. She has long, dark hair plaited into a neat braid, and she, too, is sporting a toothy smile. The princess herself, meanwhile, has a Wonder Woman costume, brandishing a lasso in one hand, looking like she’s ready to take on the world.

Overhead, the bus speakers chime and they slow to a stop. Catra is lucky she got on in time — it’s so crowded that most people are standing, and, even then, they had to leave some people behind. 

At this stop, most people dash off, dragging heavy luggage and scattering onto the empty street. Many have tears streaming down their faces as they talk into phones or comfort their children. 

After five stops, the bus is mostly cleared. Catra still has three stops to go, and one of the two remaining passengers is already giving her a weary look. The other passenger is bent over his knees, shaking slightly. Instead of getting into whatever’s wrong with the two of them, Catra sighs and flips open Adora’s newspaper, hoping to pass the time quickly.

Huh. The first page outlines the story of the virus from the Northern Reaches, but the story continues on pages seven, eight, nine, ten, and eleven, which is...unusual, to say the least. Haven’t people gotten tired of hearing about this thing already? The more she reads about the recent mutations and new symptoms (aversion to light, increased aggression, rashes, high fevers, and sweating), the worse it looks. She frowns at the paper, wondering if it’s actually going to happen.

Across the train, the man puts his head in his hands. Catra exchanges a look with the other passenger, her eyes wide with worry as she shakes her head slowly at Catra. The woman taps her cheekbone and makes a little gesture to communicate that the other passenger’s pupils have dilated.

Catra’s pretty sure this stop is hers, whether she likes it or not. The man groans as she passes him, keeping out of his way. His breaths come in ragged gasps as sweat drips down his face to the floor. Catra follows the woman off the bus and nods to her, grateful for the warning. To her surprise, the bus driver also exits the vehicle, locking the door behind him. The man onboard doesn’t seem to notice. 

Stepping out of the street, Catra takes a moment to orient herself. She’s maybe a half mile from a hotel she remembers from a previous trip, a nearby grocery store casting soft light into the street. The night is warm, but not uncomfortably so, but she’s not surprised to see the empty streets around her. Usually, she would have expected people to take advantage of the nice weather and explore the city, but on a night like this, with circumstances like this...it feels fitting. 

Checking over her shoulder, Catra crosses the street to the grocery store. Inside, a customer bickers with an employee, flushed and annoyed. The employee shakes their head, stammering a response that Catra doesn’t bother to stick around for. Grabbing a basket, she fills up on all of the protein bars and carbs that haven’t already been picked over by frantic citizens, knowing they’ll last the longest for...whatever this is.

By the deli counter, someone whispers that it’s too late.

Near the bakery, a woman cries as she prays.

By the registers, three siblings argue their next plan of action —  _ do we fight, or run? — we wouldn’t be in this piece of junk city if we had a choice — as soon as we get gas we’re taking off. _

Back at the front of the store, the aggressive customer is gone. The employee stands shaking in their lane, avoiding Catra’s stare. Shrugging to herself, Catra doesn’t bother them, instead bagging her rations by herself at the end of a checkout line. She doesn’t even consider paying with Adora’s card — after all, the only few remaining customers are simply grabbing as much food as they can handle and running out the door. 

In the street, Catra checks her phone. It’s as before — no signal. Sighing, she slips into an alleyway and reaches into her suitcase.

Curse her stupid, messed up family and their stupid survival skills and kits and whatnot that she can’t travel without, and curse their shitty ideas about the end of the world, because those overreactions might actually save Catra’s life right now.

She takes out her emergency radio, flipping it to the predetermined broadcast frequency. There’s nothing yet, but Catra taps out a quick code in Morse, waiting only for a moment for a response. If they got it, they’ll keep a message on repeat for Catra until she can respond. Until then, she needs to find a safer place to make camp.

It’s going to be a long night.

🛡️

Two AM, and Catra hasn’t slept. Below her, the city has reawoken after a still, eerie silence, filled now with a melody of inhuman noises and crashes, together creating a horrifying orchestra. Catra shivers in her sweatshirt, one eye on the roof’s access door. She barred it hours ago, but there’s only so long until someone tries it. Her radio balances on her knee (ever prepared — Shadow Weaver, her sorry excuse for a mother, might have an emotion akin to pride alight in her rotted soul at the sight of it), the spitting static yet unbroken.

Someone screams.

Another shouts.

A name, called from the streets with all the terror of someone who understands, but cannot force themself to believe.

Catra pulls her hood over her head, trying to tune them out. There’s nothing she can do for those people, but she might be able to help her friends, and the only way she can do that is if she stays alive.

The door shakes.

Catra tenses, but she’s ready. Her suitcase is already gone, replaced with a light backpack carrying everything she deemed necessary. The radio goes into her sweatshirt pocket and she zips up another jacket over it, swinging her legs over the side of the building.

On the other side of the door, an animal sound rips from a throat, guttural and too close.

So. Not an ally.

Catra slips down the side of the building, stomach to the wall. There are plenty of hand- and foot- holds (the main reason she chose the building, along with height and roof access), and she makes her way carefully but steadily downward. On the sixth floor, three from the top, she pauses, her arms shaking slightly. Wind whispers at her back, taunting her to lean back too far. Peeking through a window, there’s no sign of anyone inside, so she sits on the ledge out of the rooftop’s line of sight, winded.

In her pocket, the static whispers on.

Above her, a cry.

Catra closes her eyes, taking a slow breath. It wasn’t a close call, not really, but it’s the first time she’s had to run from one of the horde and it’s not what she expected.

Honestly? She thought surviving the zombie apocalypse would be more fun.

Below her, the hordes pass by, glowing under the streetlamps. Something less than human now, looking for victims, and  _ noisy.  _ Hundreds, maybe thousands, each of them with their own lives and own families that they’re not going home to. Catra fights the urge to search the streets for a bobbing blonde ponytail and a stupid smile, hoping against all hope that maybe, just  _ maybe _ , Adora’s out there somewhere, alive.

Catra shouldn’t have run. In the airport, she knew how serious the situation was becoming — she’d guessed when she saw the newspaper titles that she wouldn’t like the reports, but she’d donned her usual mask of indifference, running a quick con on the cute girl next to her, not thinking about the consequences.

She should have helped her.

Maybe, if she’d stayed, Catra wouldn’t be alone on the side of a building in an unfamiliar city, waiting for a signal she knows probably won’t come, thinking about a stranger she talked to for all of three minutes.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Her family would tease her for getting so stuck up in the past.

Now is now, and it doesn’t matter what happened to get Catra to where she is. The only thing that matters now is getting to safety and taking care of her friends, if they ever decide to show up. Catra shakes her head and stands, stretching. Down is dangerous and up is compromised, so she goes sideways, following the edge of the windowsill to the next and the next, playing hopscotch sixty feet in the air.

Up here, the wind is slow but firm, pressing her to the side of the building. At the edge of the wall, there’s a short drop — maybe fifteen feet — to the gravel roof of the next-door building. Catra slips her backpack straps off her shoulders and tosses her bag, turning so her back is pressed against the building. There’s no way to go down another floor — she would have to jump from here to the neighboring rooftop and use the height to her advantage to bridge the thin alleyway beneath her.

The wind pauses, gathering a breath before gusting again, and Catra takes her chance.

She rolls to take the impact off her knees, coming up in a crouch. The radio in her pocket presses uncomfortably against her stomach, but she’s here and unscathed with all her supplies, so it’s a win. Catra slings her backpack over her shoulder, staying low. She hadn’t seen anyone from the other building, but aerial views and ground views are two very different perspectives.

No roof access.

Catra breathes a sigh of relief, circling the rooftop once before settling against the northern edge, the street to her back. Her eyes drift shut in the relative peace, the world below her smoothing into an almost soothing murmur.

🛡️

“You can’t be here.”

Catra jolts awake. One hand on the radio, she flicks open a switchblade, brandishing it to the dawn sky before her. She thought she’d only drifted off for a moment, but it had been long enough to put her in danger.

“You have to lea…” the voice comes again but trails off, allowing Catra to pinpoint it. Across the roof, a young woman sits next to a crumpled figure, a small girl with fiery red hair. She lays one hand on her own stomach, the other protectively on the figure. Her eyes drift to Catra lazily, and she shakes her head, struggling for breath. She licks her lips.

“Too...too much,” she whispers. Tears slip down her cheeks as Catra stands and slowly backs away, all traces of exhaustion gone.

“What can I do?” Catra calls, cringing at her too-loud voice.

“No,” the woman manages in a sob, covering her mouth with one hand. Her stomach uncovered, Catra balks at the mess there, scratched and bleeding. “Nothing.”

_Infected?_ _Or just injured?_

_ How did they get up here? How long has it been?  _

Catra cheats another step back, her knife still out. She has time, she figures, and kneels to slip the radio into her bag, keeping her eyes on the duo. The woman’s gaze is completely unfocused now, her eyes on something far away as she mutters a name, over and over.

Glancing over her shoulder, Catra spots an emergency ladder — must’ve been how they reached the roof — and moves toward it,

But

_ But _

Someone takes a sharp breath, coughing on the exhale. Catra stills, all too aware of her footsteps crunching on gravel, the static from her radio. Her breath catches in her throat as she looks towards the sound, coming from mere feet away from her. 

A third person, another girl — no,  _ not _ a girl, because they’re something less than human now, rising from their hands and knees. This... _ thing  _ is far from the couple but mobile, using the side wall to push itself into a standing position. Its eyes are completely black. 

The pair locks their eyes on their suddenly upright friend. 

“She’s awake,” says the woman. Catra knows it’s not their friend anymore, but the girl speaks before she can remind them.

“Elizabeth,” she coughs out. “Beth. Beth. Can you hear us?”

The zombie — Beth — doesn’t respond. She just groans, sourcing the sound and limping towards it. 

“ _ Elizabeth,”  _ the woman cries, helping the smaller girl to her feet. They try to back away, but their injuries are too great. “ _ Please.  _ It’s us. It’s us. Don’t you see? _ ”  _

Catra knows it’s no use. They probably know, too, but knowing someone’s lost and letting them go are two very different things. Catra’s gaze flickers between Elizabeth and the ladder behind her. It’ll be dangerous, as any sudden movement or unintentional sound is sure to attract its attention, but she’s still got stealth on her side. She thinks she can make it. The woman locks eyes with Catra for a moment, nods. Catra backs away.

Halfway there, the static stops, and her stomach drops.

Bright, obnoxious beeps echo across the rooftop, far too loud — the signal is strong, meaning her friends must be closer than she’d thought.

The zombie turns.

The beeps continue, shattering the quiet morning air with their intensity, but she doesn’t have time to stop it right then, even if it means more will be on her soon. Across the roof, the couple cries out, trying to grab Elizabeth’s attention. Trying to save her. Catra jumps onto the ladder, narrowly catching the top rungs, and half-falls, half-jumps down, the old metal tearing at the skin on her palms. The ladder only drops two floors before spitting her out onto a fire escape, which she takes to the alley floor with hurried steps.

Above her, she hears pleas for a moment longer, then screams. 

She tries to block it out, digging through her back to instead focus on the message she’s receiving on her radio. It’s only six short words on a loop, and it takes her but a minute to translate the whole thing.

_ c coming to u bware zombies. _

She scoffs darkly. As if she hadn’t figured  _ that _ out already. She hits the off switch, ending the transmission. As long as her friends are on the move they’ll be fine, but Catra needs to find a safe place to camp out in the meanwhile. Somewhere without emergency ladders or access doors. It shouldn’t be long before her friends arrive  — the flight was only cut an hour short, akin to a seven or eight hour drive under normal circumstances. Catra figures it’ll be a day, two, tops before they reach her.

Luckily or unluckily, Catra has spent much of her life training for something like this. Her survivalist family was always a sore point for Catra, but she’s picked up a lot and knows what to do.

The TVs say to leave the city. News anchors across the nation are reporting mass breakouts in highly populated areas and experts are encouraging mass evacuation.

Any remaining people are either dead or infected. 

The city will be empty. 

Hers to take or let fall.

After the city is deserted, it’ll all be for her and her friends to control — endless supplies and protection, wherever they end up, entirely theirs.

Well — they might have to share with the countless hordes wandering the streets, but that’s a problem for future Catra and her friends. For now, she needs to find their new base.

Catra shoulders her backpack again, this time setting out with a little more care as to where she’s going.

Eventually, she finds it. An abandoned shopping center, flickering lights announcing its name to the city in disarray: Mystacor Mall. By the time she hops the fence and breaks in through a side door, she’s bloody and wheezing, but the blood isn’t her own and she gets her breath under control quickly. She wipes her blade on her jeans as she walks, listening for sounds of life or other. The mall is too quiet, the night outside muted within the walls. Automatic lights blink on by the entrance, buzzing in the dark, but the rest of the mall remains cloaked in shadows.

There are three floors in total, stores lining the outside of the mall. The center is left completely open, leaving a clear view from the top floor all the way to the main foyer. Taking note of the easy access, Catra decides that their headquarters, whichever store it ends up being, should be on the third floor.

It only takes her a few minutes to find it. It’s at the end of a hall, close to a non functioning escalator — otherwise known as stairs — and not far from a roof access door. Just outside the doors, there’s a well stocked mini grocery store and a kiosk filled with medical supplies should the need arise.

Catra steps through the single entrance, guarded by heavy doors and unlocked by the set of skeleton keys she found on the ground, an accidental parting gift from an absent security guard. Inside, she quickly recognizes the space for what it is: an old-fashioned arcade, stocked with period video games, claw machines, and even what looks to be a small bowling alley and roller rink. Near the entrance is a somehow endearing grimy prize counter stocked with cheap rubber toys and tacky t-shirts. A side door leads to another dark room, cheap golf clubs in a basket outside the door. The floor is decked out in black carpet with glow-in-the-dark planets and stars, reminding Catra of the stickers she put on her ceiling as a kid.

Once she’s taken it all in, Catra flicks on the overhead lights. She steps back, the neon sign out front the only light in the mall, a warning to all who approach.

_ Welcome to The Fright Zone. _

Catra smiles, wicked sharp, and sets to work.


	3. Taking Control

Catra sees them first.

She sends a message.

_L I see u. Its c. Do u see me_

The figure in the back of the truck raises an arm, waves briefly. 

_yes,_ beeps the message.

Then, the radio cracks to life.

“Hey,” comes Lonnie’s voice, distorted through the static. “Can you hear this? Are we close enough?”

“Yeah,” responds Catra. “We need stronger radios.”

“Duh.”

“I’m just three blocks up.” 

“Obviously. Give us a sec. There’s a bit of roadblock, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Catra grimaces. Lonnie is correct, technically, but calling the bodies strewn throughout the streets ‘roadblock’ is a little grim, even for their current situation.

Down the street, the truck rumbles quietly. Hordes scatter past them, averting their gaze from the truck’s headlights. From the bed of the truck and the passenger seat, Lonnie and Kyle flash bright lights into the eyes of any figure that stumbles too close, diverting them out of their path.

Catra slips from her place on the roof and makes her way to the front entrance, her footsteps echoing on the floors. She normally would go for tennis shoes or something comfortable - or even better, barefoot - but now she wears tough boots, made for a mix of fighting and running. She figures they’ll be better if she ever ends up on the streets.

At the doors, Catra scans the mall behind her, despite knowing she’s alone. Over the last day and a half, she’s checked every store and entrance, securing what she could and stockpiling useful resources, counting everything out on her own. A small group had forced their way into the mall earlier that day, but apparently Catra looks pretty intimidating with a baseball bat over her shoulder, because the group had left with muttered apologies and downcast eyes.

Now, she stands at the mall’s main entrance and waits until the truck is only a couple lengths away before pulling open the broad doors. Rogelio steers them carefully through the entrance, Lonnie ducking in back. Catra is pretty sure the mall architects didn’t plan around pickup trucks being able to roll into the main foyer, but luckily, there’s no problem.

Catra closes the doors behind them, lacing a chain through the handles for good measure. It won’t do much to slow a human down, as they could simply reach through the crack in the doors and untangle it, but against a zombie, it might hold for a few minutes. She turns to the group, wiping her hands on her jeans.

“What did you bring?” she asks.

Lonnie hops down from the truck’s bed, pretending to be annoyed. “What, no ‘hello,’ or ‘hey guys, thanks for travelling for two days straight to come save my lonely ass’?”

Catra scowls at her. “You guys left before I even called, as I remember,” she points out. Lonnie scoffs and looks away, now a little annoyed for real. Before she can respond, though, Kyle falls out of the passenger seat, smiling as he runs up to Catra.

“Hey!” he says, way too loud and overenthusiastic.

“Hey, yourself.” Catra replies, fighting a smile. Her friend is a bit of a mess and overly awkward, but she appreciates his positivity.

“You’ll never believe it, we saw a zombie that looks _just_ like that guy you used to hate, what was his name?—Imp?—”

“You gonna help us, Catra?” Lonnie interrupts from a few feet away, annoyed. She and Rogelio (who greets Catra with a nod), are already unpacking, and Catra gives Kyle a pat on the shoulder before joining them. Everyone pulls backpacks over their shoulders and picks up what they can carry for now. Catra leads them to the stairs.

Reaching the Fright Zone, Catra drops the bag she’s holding and pulls a key out of her pocket. “Home sweet home,” she mutters dryly, opening the doors.

Inside, the arcade has been completely remodeled. What had before been a retro arcade is now a fortified base of operations for team Mystacor. Stacked in the roller rink are piles of packaged and bottled water next to crates of food, most dried or dehydrated. The contents of the first aid kiosk are labeled and organized neatly in the cupboards against the back wall, set up next to a muted TV showing depictions of horde attacks across the country, along with the repeated message to get out of the city.

Another wall contains all of the games and machines — some that she has already earned high scores on — that seemed interesting enough to keep around. The more boring ones will serve as a good blockade. Additionally, she took down all of the stuffed animals that once decorated the prize store, instead hanging tough leather and denim jackets she found in a store on the first floor that may withstand a zombie bite. Behind the glass showcase that used to hold rubber toys and cheap knick knacks, an array of weapons line the shelves, along with an axe she retrieved from a glass box in the wall, decorative swords that aren’t so decorative anymore, and fire extinguishers. 

Rogelio smiles. _You’ve redecorated,_ he signs.

Lonnie and Catra take a second trip to the truck to get the rest of their belongings while Kyle and Rogelio unpack what they’ve already brought.

They chance the elevator down. A stalled elevator wasn’t worth the risk on the way up with all their supplies, but they figure they can get out easily on their own. Lonnie slips a knife through the elevator doors to make sure they’ll be able to pry them open if needed. As she does so, Catra notices a small cut following the line of her cheekbone. She brings her thumb to the mark, frowning before Lonnie pushes her hand away.

“Nothing,” she says brusquely. Catra nods as the doors open with a pleasant _ding,_ slightly concerned.

At the truck, Catra makes the mistake of looking outside. In the evening light, the zombies are becoming bolder. During the day, they mostly sag against buildings and cars or fall prone in the streets if they can’t get to shade, trying to avoid the sun without the ability to form complex thought.

It’s like high school all over again.

Now, the zombies peel themselves off the concrete and set to their paces, wandering the streets and bashing their swollen, bloody fists against glass windows and doorways. The locked fence around the mall keeps most out, but some linger just outside, their eyes on the gift-wrapped mystery before them. As the night wears on, they’ll only become braver.

Catra shivers and looks away.

“Have you talked to Shadow Weaver recently?”

Catra’s head snaps up at the question. “Why would I do that?”

Lonnie shrugs, nonchalant. “Just wondering.” 

They continue packing in silence, taking the smallest tools and trinkets from the glovebox and divider, knowing that the truck is more likely to get raided than the Fright Zone. Adjusting the straps on her backpack, Catra considers her question.

“Have _you_ talked to her recently?”

Lonnie slams the driver’s door, frowning. The noise echoes through the abandoned foyer, and something clatters in the food court across the way. There isn’t much to talk about when it comes to Shadow Weaver — she was a terrible ‘mother’ to Catra and teacher to Lonnie, and they both hated her more than anything else in the world. She was manipulative and didn’t deserve shit, but there’s still something in Catra that hopes that Shadow Weaver’s out there somewhere, making do in her own way.

Catra hates her own traitorous mind for caring, but she’s learning not to. Some people don’t give forgiveness, no matter what they do.

“Not since high school,” Lonnie says, shrugging. “I got to the dorms and stayed there, went to my girlfriend’s for the holidays. Nothing she can do to me anymore.”

“Don’t call it high school,” Catra snaps. “With Shadow Weaver as headmistress, and, like 50 students, it barely qualifies. Call it what it was. A cult. A survivalist cult.” 

“Take a breath, Catra,” Lonnie interjects. “I know how you get when you think about her. She’s not here. And you know, honestly…” she looks around, assessing their situation. “It might do you some good to be thankful for her right about now. This... _this_ is what she was preparing us for.” 

Catra goes silent, deciding that the conversation is over. After she left home, the same time Lonnie did, Catra had thought that Shadow Weaver couldn’t hurt her anymore, but some wounds take time to heal. Like, a _long_ time. It’s been six years, and Catra is still hearing Shadow Weaver’s words echoing in her head, drowning out her own voice sometimes.

She’s working on it, and her friends are too. They’re a little broken and a little disconnected, but they’ve got each other’s backs. They work well together and know each other even better, and as a team, Catra has to hope that maybe, they can all get out of this together.

“Let’s go home.”

Lonnie swallows. “A little early to call it that, don’t you think?” 

“Maybe,” Catra says, mostly to humor her. However, deep inside she knows: they’re gonna have to settle in, and fast. Whatever this is is gonna last a while. 

🛡️

“All the way to Fifth? Are you kidding me?” Lonnie leans away from the counter, crossing her arms. They’ve laid out a map of the city over the glass, and Catra is highlighting a line around the mall, ideal for their barricade.

“I know, but I scouted before you got here and it’s a good plan. The street is wide, and there aren’t any buildings to rush from the south.”

Kyle traces the line, worried. “Catra, there are only four of us,” he protests, wisely.

“Three and a half,” jests Lonnie, gesturing to Kyle. He sticks his tongue out at her. 

“I know it’s just us,” Catra repeats. “But it’s our best bet. The infected are just growing as they come to the city, and we need strong defenses. Besides—” she pulls the map away from Kyle, marking another line east to west. “On _this_ side of the mall we’ll be a lot closer, so it evens out.”

 _That’s not a good argument_ , Rogelio points out. 

Catra sighs. “I know.”

“We know you know,” Lonnie mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose. “It’s just a lot, and we don’t have forces. It’ll be dangerous.”

“We’ve got gear, and a team.”

“Who will guard the mall?”

Catra pauses. “Kyle?” _So we don’t have to babysit,_ she thinks, knowing Lonnie and Rogelio are on the same page. 

Kyle sighs. “Fine, but if you come back and I’m infected, I’m haunting you for the rest of your lives.”

Lonnie sighs. “If we come back and you’re gone, you won’t have to wait around long for us.” She considers the map again, turning the idea over in her head.

“We’ll go at first light, then.” she says, agreeing to the plan. Catra sighs in relief.

“Good.”

 _What are we using for the blockade?_ Rogelio asks.

“For now, we’ll set up cars in a line. We won’t clear any zombies out yet — we’ll have to wait until we get more recruits.”

Kyle frowns. “Recruits?”

“Well, anyone that wants to join us that’s not infected,” she reasons. “Once things have settled down and the survivors start to come out, we’ll be able to build up a _real_ wall to keep them out. The main floor has a lumber section, and we’ll be able to pull from other stores if we need to.” Catra leans over the map, circling a street corner taken up by a large warehouse. “Here’s a lumber and construction store, too. We can hit that with a group later.”

“That’s a lot of future tense, Catra.” Lonnie warns. Catra’s always been good at strategy, but one of the reasons they work so well together is that Lonnie knows when to pull back where Catra wants to push forward. “What about the gate around Mystacor? Do we need to reinforce that?”

Catra hesitates. She knows Lonnie is right, but that kind of work means noise, and she’s not sure she’s willing to make such a commotion so close to their new base, even if it’s during the day when most of the zombies are down. Broad daylight is best for noise or movement, but it’s still a danger.

“I think we’re good for now,” Catra says cautiously. “But we’ll have to be on the lookout for survivors. They might break in for a hideout, but in that case we’ll just have to talk to them and hope they’ll work with us. We can’t be alone forever.”

The group nods in agreement.

“I get the reason, but I still don’t think this is a good idea,” Lonnie says. Next to her, Rogelio shrugs.

 _You have another plan?_ he signs, questioning. 

Lonnie sighs. It’s clear she’s outnumbered. “Alright. I’m in.”

🛡️

Catra comes down from morning patrol (one-person patrol isn’t much, but it’s all they can afford right now) to find the others unpacking the remaining supplies from the truck. After setting up the blockade over the last six days, they’re dead on their feet. _Not as dead as they could be,_ Catra thinks, before shaking the thought away. She leans against the Fright Zone’s door frame, letting the silence wash over her for a moment.

“What’s this?” The room pauses at Kyle’s question, looking to where he stands by the prize counter. He turns and holds up a faded brown wallet, a question in his eyes.

Catra recognizes it immediately. “Mine,” she responds, moving to take it from him, but Kyle dodges under her arm and hops onto the counter, evading her narrowly. He flips it open, eyes widening slightly at the picture inside.

“Who’s Adora Randor?”

By the skee-ball lanes, Lonnie snickers.

“Just—” Catra flushes red and crosses her arms over her chest. “Someone I conned.”

“Mhmm,” Kyle hums, looking closer at the picture. “Hey, she’s kinda pre—”

Catra uses his distraction to swipe his feet out from under him, sending him crashing to the counter and then the floor, Adora’s wallet falling out of his hand. Lonnie gets to it before Catra and immediately throws it back to Kyle in an annoying game of keep away. Catra huffs in anger, pretending that’s the only reason she’s blushing. 

Lonnie laughs at something Rogelio said, but Catra hadn’t been looking. As Kyle once again opens the wallet and retrieves the photo, he repeats the question to Catra.

_Is she blonde?_

Catra blinks at him, not sure of what he’s insinuating. “Blonde? What are you talking about—er no, she isn’t but what’s—”

“Yes! She is!” Kyle waves the photo around as proof, laughing around the candy he has stuffed in his mouth. Rogelio and Lonnie join in the cackling, and Catra hates the sound.

“Why would—what?” she holds back a growl deep in her throat, trying to understand where the question had come from.

“Everyone knows your type, Catra,” Lonnie says with a mischievous smile. “Blonde. Buff. A little bit stupid.”

“Who says she’s stupid?” Catra frowns, embarrassed.

“If she fell for your con, I bet she is.”

“Whatever. I don’t have a _type_ when I’m stealing from people, so your point is irrelevant.”

“So why’d you keep the wallet?” Kyle interjects.

“Huh?”

“It’s the zombie apocalypse, Catra, if you hadn’t noticed,” he says in a tone that is uncharacteristically sarcastic. “We don’t need her money. We don’t need debit cards. And we especially don’t need this voucher for a free ice cream cone at—” he pauses, checking the name on the card. “The Kingdom of Snows.”

“I just—forgot to throw it away, that’s all.”

“Sure. Let me handle that for you, then—” Lonnie says, grabbing the wallet from Kyle and calling Catra’s bluff by hovering it over the trash can.

“Wait—” Catra knows what they’re doing, but risks further embarrassment anyway, leaping forward and snatching it from Lonnie’s hands. They all burst out into laughter again, and Catra rushes to cover her tracks. 

“It’s not because I _like_ her or anything.” 

“Sure,” Lonnie giggles. “We’ll humor you.” 

“No, really.” She scratches the back of her neck. “It’s because...because...um, while we were talking, I...gave her a really dumb nickname. _She-Ra._ She-Ra, the Princess of Power.” 

“You nicknamed her _that_ and you expect us to believe—” 

Catra talks over her. “And, I don’t know. It seems silly, but I thought she’d...make a good mascot?” 

There’s a beat of silence. Catra kicks herself internally for picking that as her cover story. 

“Mascot, huh?” Says Lonnie tentatively. She opens her palm, gesturing for the photos, and Catra dubiously hands them over. 

The trio leans in, giving the photo an intense look.

Lonnie snickers. “You’re kinda right.”

“Yeah. She has this funny quality to her. Wonder Woman, in this picture.”

 _Like she’d survive the apocalypse,_ Rogelio signs. 

Catra stands for a moment, dumbfounded that it’s working. “Well, I don’t know about that, Rogelio, but...yeah. She felt like..a dainty little princess that, you know, could still kill you.” 

They laugh, but this time it’s _with_ her. 

“Should we...hang her ID up or something? As a joke?” Lonnie looks up, scanning the room for wall space. “She can be our good luck charm.” 

Rogelio nods in agreement, and Kyle starts bounding towards the entrance. 

“We could hang it above the door! Touch it before we leave. For luck!” 

“Can you even reach that, Kyle?” Lonnie snorts. 

“Hey—” 

Rogelio waves, catching their attention. _We passed a print shop downstairs,_ he signs. 

“So?” 

_We could copy the picture. Expand it, make posters. Hang them everywhere._

Catra can’t believe it’s going this far. 

“I mean, yeah, if she’s our mascot, that seems like the only _logical_ thing to do,” Lonnie says. “Remember, this is _your_ idea, Catra,” she adds with a grin, essentially giving Catra one more chance to back out. 

She doesn’t take it. “Sounds great to me.” Catra’s smile is only partially forced. 

“Great. Then it’s settled.” Lonnie outstretches her arms, like she’s imagining the name in lights above the city: “ _She-Ra, the Princess of Power._ The official mascot of the Myscacor Mall.”

Rogelio grins. _Those hordes don’t stand a chance._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two catra povs in a row, but tomorrow we got an adora headed ur way;) also our apologies for roasting kyle so much -anyonesaunt
> 
> it was a's idea for the fright zone to be an arcade and i still lose my mind every single time i think about it...*chef's kiss* - xandrillia
> 
> [map of etheria](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1eVElczoPyqndGkP4ewLZj0mDmlrF-Rkh/view?usp=sharing)


	4. Beast Island

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for the comments!!! by the way we just added a [map](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1eVElczoPyqndGkP4ewLZj0mDmlrF-Rkh/view?usp=sharing) to chapter 3, if you didn’t get to see it 👀  
> also, the emails are a bit late (last night it took over an hour) but the chapters will always be up by 7!

_DAY ???_

_Feeling ok. Tired._

_Rations running low._

_Unsure if purple berries I saw near the river are edible. Might take the risk._

_No signs of any other humans again. Not that I’m complaining. I’ve said it before: I don’t want a crew. Don’t need one. Don’t want to risk the heartbreak. Too afraid of losing someone again. This is for the best._

_Saw a horde turn last night. First time I’ve seen it since this started._

_When I found her, her pupils were already dilated completely. I couldn’t tell in the dark, though._

_She was burning hot. When I got close to her, it was like I was like I was approaching a campfire. I swear I saw her blood sizzle when it hit the ground._

_And I saw her veins. I had heard the rumors that their veins turn green, but I didn’t believe it until I saw it. It was just like that woman I found near that cave last week — month? — said...they were bright green, almost glowing, and like a web, stemming out from the place of infection, which, for this girl, was a scratch on her leg. I didn’t know the infection spread like that_ _— I thought it was just bites —_ _but the zombie’s blood entered her bloodstream through the wound._

_I literally saw the infection climb up her thigh like a vine. Her skin peeled as it went. When it reached her head, that’s when the transformation was complete. I think it ate through her skin, accessed the nervous system._

_I waited a few moments before killing her._

_I miss you, Mara. This fight is for you._

🗡️

Adora shuts her journal and looks up. The sun is high in the sky — it must be noon already. This is the perfect time to go looking for food, and she knows it. Most zombies aren’t active during the daytime and are pretty easy to kill. 

But she doesn’t have the energy. She hasn’t had the energy in weeks. 

Sometimes Adora curses herself for selecting the woods as her home base. Sure, climbing trees is one of the best ways to avoid the hordes, and it’s a mostly isolated area, save for that old woman living in a cave a few miles east. She asks herself every day how that old lady has survived so long with nothing but a broom for a walking stick and her deteriorating wits, but Adora isn’t complaining. After all, the lady makes great pies. 

Adora sighs, debating on whether or not to exit the tree on which she is perched. The tree — which she secretly named, just for the illusion of companionship — grows some sort of large sour fruit that’s essentially been her entire diet. However, recently, it seems to have grown dry. She’s been trying to find other sources of food, but it’s been difficult, even with the occasional guidance of the cave woman. The forest seems to be picked over. 

_Try the river again,_ says the voice in her head. 

“I tried it last week. There’s nothing but the mystery berries.” 

_You’re getting weak. You said it yourself. You need to take the risk._

“You’re...right.” She groans. 

Adora’s no carpenter, but she’s pretty proud of the treehouse she assembled for her base. It’s just a plank for a floor with a few sturdy logs holding up a roof, but it has plenty of storage space for her dwindling supply of survival items, and the ladder — made of a few wooden blocks she secured to the trunk — hasn’t failed her yet. 

Once Adora’s feet are planted firmly on the ground, she grabs her makeshift wooden slugger and the plastic pail she uses to collect fruit. She touches the bark of her tree one last time before leaving. 

“Bye, Light Hope,” she says to its branches. 

_I still think that’s a dumb name for a tree._

“Shut up,” protests Adora. “It’s optimistic.” 

Barring the zombie apocalypse, the walk to the river is pleasant and brisk. Over the past few weeks, Adora has learned not to take these brief instances of normalcy for granted. For a moment while she walks, she can almost believe she’s not a lonely woman wandering the woods in search of food for her survival, but a regular young woman, taking a stroll through the woods to admire blooming flowers and bright insects, nothing to want and nothing to fear.

The only issue with taking it all in, of course, is not looking where you’re going. In such a moment, when Adora is caught up in the innocent fluffiness of the clouds above, she trips over something hard and firm and metal lodged into the forest floor. 

The ensuing fall is brutal. Her hands full, Adora can’t break her fall. She skids down a steep slope, tumbling so her knees take the most of the damage, scraping against sticks and sharp rocks. At the bottom of the incline she lands with a _oomf_ on her back, momentarily stunned breathless.

She doesn’t scream, though. She’s learned not to. Instead, she mutters out a weak “ow.” 

_What was that?_

She grunts, first lifting herself onto her knees and then shakily rising to her feet. She assesses the damage for only a moment — it’s hard to do, when her entire legs seem to be covered in blood — before turning back towards the hill.

At the top of the hill (which really isn’t that big, given the injuries pulsing on her legs), Adora spots the cause of her fall. It’s...a sword? Or, at least, the hilt of one, sticking out of the ground, glinting as a patch of sunlight hits its golden grip. 

“Woah.” Adora’s voice cracks, still reeling from the fall. 

She takes a careful step forward, somehow believing it too good to be true. She looks away for a moment, hauling herself up to the sword by the tree’s roots, groaning as she flops onto her stomach beside it. Rolling to her back, she presses a hand against her ribs, too prominent. She really needs to get something to eat, but for now her attention is completely focused on the weapon before her. She rises to her feet unsteadily, uncharacteristically hesitant.

_What are you waiting for?_

“I...I don’t know.” Her injuries momentarily forgotten, Adora kneels down next to the weapon and extends a hand, almost as if to prove it’s real. She feels the smooth, flat blade of it, before briefly touching the sharp edge — _ouch._ Almost no pressure, and yet, a red line of fresh blood appears at her fingertip.

“Sharp,” she whispers quietly. 

_No shit._

Memories of her childhood flash through her mind, briefly. Her and her sister, snuggled under the covers of their shared bed. Pulling the blankets over their noses as they listen to their mother, reading aloud countless fantasy stories, princesses and superheroes saving the world in each and every one. As they get older, the stories turn to ones of doctors and activists, each changing the world for the better. Throughout countless lifetimes of adventure, one story always remained her favorite.

“The Sword in the Stone,” she breathes aloud. 

_It’s not in a stone, it’s in the ground._

Adora ignores the voice. “I bet I can…” she drops her slugger, which seems so insignificant in comparison to the weapon before her, and firmly grabs the hilt with both hands. 

“On the count of three.” She takes a deep breath in. “One. Two. _Three.”_

It slides out like butter. In fact, Adora uses too much force, falling backwards and landing roughly on a hard patch of dirt. 

This pain is duller, but it still makes it difficult to stand. She wobbles for a second before leaning against a tree, momentarily dropping the sword and touching the warm blood painting her kneecaps. “I don’t think I can make it to the river,” she mumbles. 

She picks the object up again. Light, yet deadly. Dainty, but clearly capable of beheading a zombie. She likes it. She likes it a lot. 

_You gonna name the sword, too?_

“I need to head back.” She shakes her head, suddenly feeling woozy. Blood loss? “I...I need to head back.” 

The walk back to Light Hope isn’t nearly as pleasant. She’s panting when she reaches the base of the tree, and she has left a trail of blood behind her. She almost doesn’t muster the strength to climb back into her treehouse, and when she does, she only has the energy to lean against a branch and _breathe, breathe, breathe._

First aid. What first aid does she have? 

She peeks open one eye, looking at the pile. Nothing, really. Some antiseptic, which she pours over her knees, stifling her screams by stuffing her arm in her mouth. But no bandages. No needle or thread. Nothing to stop the blood, other than some stockings from her suitcase that she’s somehow managed to keep for all these weeks, which will have to do for now. 

It’s not enough to treat her wounds, and she knows it. 

_It’s time._

“I don’t want to,” she groans, low in her throat. 

_It’s time, Adora. You need to go to the city._

🗡️

Adora’s been avoiding the city since this whole fiasco started. After she saw that broadcast in the Crimson Waste bar, she grabbed all of the food supplies she could find in a one-mile vicinity, emptied most of the clothes in her suitcase to make room for her new load, and ran into the nearby Whispering Woods without looking back. She found Light Hope a few days later, collected the wood for her treehouse on day four, and killed her first zombie on the seven day mark. Never once did she even consider entering the urban jungle mere miles from her base. After all, the news said to evacuate. So anyone remaining must be infected, right? 

Wrong. She knows she’s wrong. On the days she’s felt brave enough to venture to the edge of the woods, she’s seen people — _real_ people, not hordes, healthy and strong — patrolling the edge of the city. With weapons, cars, gear, everything that she needs. She’s seen people go in and come out with supplies, and she’s even heard tell of a stronghold right in the center that holds everything a person could need. Apparently, it’s “owned” by some powerhouse apocalypse group that almost controls Etheria — however, this was heard by a man she accidentally ran into while collecting nuts on the westernmost part of Whispering, and he had a questionable mental state. 

Whether the city is “controlled” by some Mad Max-esc doomsday gang or not, Adora knows she doesn’t really have a choice. The state of her legs is deteriorating fast, and if she waits any longer, it could be too late. 

Dying due to a stumble in the middle of the zombie apocalypse — how lame is that? 

🗡️

She leaves at dawn. Any reasonable survivalist has learned by now that morning time and high noon are the safest times to travel. One can usually pass by an entire group of hordes without much incident, as they’re almost blind during the day, cowering in the presence of sunlight. 

Her legs barely scabbed over during the night, and now she’s seeing the early signs of infection on the open wounds. Adora’s sister was an EMT, and she picked up more than a few things from her — things that have come in hand _way_ too often recently.

The walk takes longer than it should, due to the pain, but she manages. She only brings two things: her emptied suitcase (the contents are temporarily strewn about her treehouse) and her sword. She hasn’t used it yet, but some dark part of her is eager to try. 

Hoping to stay to the outskirts of the city and to avoid whoever’s patrols those were, Adora tries the first stores that she stumbles upon. First, a grocery store — emptied — and next, a pharmacy — also desolate. She has hope in the gas station that she finds next, figuring that most people have overlooked the grimey and run-down place, but she’s wrong — also picked over. It almost seems methodical, entire shelves bare like a group of people raided these stores and brought their contents somewhere else. 

She can’t believe her luck as she limps down the empty streets. Maybe those rumors were true. Maybe this entire city is under someone’s control, and maybe Adora is breaking some sort of unspoken rule by being here. She doesn’t have much time to consider these thoughts before she hears a blasting _honk_ behind her. 

Adora spins on the spot, heart pounding. Behind her, a pimped-out truck sporting gigantic wheels and topped with a military-grade machine gun comes racing toward her, engine screaming. She doesn’t have time to take in much more than violet paint and a mechanical arm hanging from the window before it’s on her, and Adora scrambles out of the way.

To her surprise, the car skids to a halt on the street, two fuzzy pink dice swinging wildly from the rearview mirror. The air reeks suddenly with the smell of shredded tires, dust rising from the blacktop. The window rolls down and a young woman pops out the window, grinning.

“Hiya!” shouts a surprisingly high-pitched voice, bright with energy. “You alright, there, ma’am?” She’s dressed like a mechanic, down to the goggles and overalls, but everything she’s wearing is a pretty shade of purple. Even her hair is dyed, and it’s blowing wildly in the wind, almost like it’s alive. 

Adora coughs, trying to clear the smoke from her lungs. Who is this? “Yeah, um, _cough, cough,_ I’m fine—” 

“Great to hear. I’m Entrapta. I’m Etheria patrol. You looking for Mystacor Mall? Technically, we aren’t handing out rations again until next week, but we sometimes work around that—” by the time Entrapta stops to take a breath, the smoke has settled, revealing Adora’s face to her. When she sees it, she gasps. “ _She-Ra?”_ She cries, grabbing her cheeks and leaning halfway out the window. If Adora were living a cartoon, she’d almost expect there to be hearts in her eyes. 

Adora halts. Where does she remember that from? 

The patrol — Entrapta — keeps gushing. “That’s so crazy! I can’t believe it! I didn’t think you were a real person! I thought the crew at Mystacor just made you up for morale or something! But you _have_ to be her! You look just like her! Of course, I know your _real_ name isn’t She-Ra, but I can’t remember it for the life of me. Dangit, I look at that ID photo every day, and I still don’t remember the name...oh well! This is crazy!” She squeals, pulling out a polaroid camera. “I’m taking your picture!” 

“Hey, wait—!” Adora covers her face as the flash goes off, still unbelievably confused. “She-Ra? Why are you calling me that? And rations? At Mystacore Mall?” 

_A mall? That’s a great place to weather out the apocalypse._

“Yes, rations, but, like I said, we’re not giving any away this week. But, hey! You’re She-Ra! You’re _the_ She-Ra, _the_ Princess of Power! I can make an exception for you!” She smiles widely. 

Adora still can’t quite place where she heard that name from, but if it gets her a ticket to free medical supplies, she decides she’ll run with it. “That would be amazing,” she smiles, somewhat amazed at her odds. “Do you mind if I ride in your truck?”

“You mean Emily?” Entrapta corrects, slapping the side of the vehicle. “Had her since before this whole thing started. Blessing in disguise, this apocalypse, because I’ve had so much extra time to work on her! She has a gun turret in her cargo bed now! And cup holders!!” 

“But, can I—?” 

Entrapta starts to answer in the affirmative, but a sudden glance downward changes her whole peppy demeanor. She snaps her mouth shut before chuckling awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck and placing both hands on the wheel. “Actually, um, I’m not sure if that will work.” 

“What?” Adora squeaks. “Why?” 

“It’s just—” Entrapta points to Adora’s bloodied knees. “You’re wounded.” 

“So what?” Adora protests, growing nervous. “I’ve just tripped, nothing more! Look into my eyes, they’re not dilated—” 

“I’m sorry, She-Ra,” Entrapta says nervously. It’s clear she doesn’t enjoy confrontation. “I’m on strict orders. No wounded people allowed into Mystacor. No exceptions. Catra said so.” 

Time stops. _Catra? Catra...from the plane? Catra, who stole my wallet?_

Adora carefully presses Entrapta on. “What was that name again?” 

“Catra! She’s kind of the leader of this place. She’s the best! I came into the mall for rations in Emily one day, and I told her about the death ray I’m building — once I finish, it’ll turn zombies into undead dust, I swear — and she invited me to join the team. I’ve been living in Mystacore Mall ever since! She gives me time and resources to work on my tech, and I volunteer patrol hours. It’s perfect!” She looks sheepish again. “Oops. Sorry. I probably shouldn’t be making you feel jealous right about now. Because, like I said. You’re not allowed in.” 

The gears in Adora’s head have already started turning. _Catra, the pickpocket. Catra, the thief._

“It’s fine, Entrapta,” she says evenly. “No harm done.” 

🗡️

There’s a gap in the patrol.

That much, Adora can see right away. Whoever set up the patrol was smart — survivors switch positions in shifts, working in pairs and, less often, alone. Each couple takes an intersection, the next patrol keeping watch two blocks down. The corner patrols are heavily guarded, with both the blocks on either side of the corner keeping watch.

There are always patrols moving — as far as Adora can tell, there are two extra patrol groups for the amount of patrol stations. The shift changes by one group taking over for another, and the original group moves down to the next station to take charge there, rotating like clockwork. It keeps them alert but weary, and sometimes the groups trade partners for new company, meaning they’re more likely to be attentive to their surroundings with change.

Street corners work in groups of three instead of two, keeping an eye on both street directions. The group at the corner of Fifth and Dryl is the one she’ll take advantage of, as neighboring patrols come to the aid of other patrols if needed. Unfortunately for them, Adora doesn’t think their efficiency can hold up under her plan.

Defending against the hordes, who typically work in packs, with no regard for stealth, the patrols will hold up just fine. Defending against one smart-alec valedictorian with a penchant for getting into situations a little out of her control, they don’t stand a chance.

She crouches between third and fourth street, counting evenly in her head.

 _You’re going too fast._

Adora frowns at the voice and dismisses it, trying to keep her focus. There’s only one chance for this to work, and she has to make it count.

In the distance, someone shouts. Weapons are raised and aimed at her distraction — a small gathering of hordes that she carefully lured into the patrol’s vicinity — and Adora slips forward.

For a moment, the world goes black. Darkness swirls from the edges of her vision, spiraling inward, but she manages to get it under control with a couple deep breaths, keeping her eyes pinned on the target in front of her even as it slips in her unfocused gaze.

_Don’t stop now, Adora. You’re so close._

Shaking her head slightly (but not too much — the dizziness hasn’t completely left her yet), Adora stumbles forward. At the patrol on second, someone raises a walkie-talkie to their mouth, but their attention is on their partner station at the small, and almost already won, battle that is taking place there. There’s no one to see her at third, so Adora falls into a quick jog, adrenaline burning away her weariness.

The wooden boards are high, but they’re built against brute force, not mobility. Adora hauls herself upward with the help of her suitcase, which she thankfully brought along as a stepping stool, and later to hold her supplies. Grabbing the top of the wooden beams, Adora winces. There are bound to be countless splinters in her palms by the time this is all over, but she doesn’t have time to focus on that.

She leaves the suitcase behind, knowing it’s too bulky and likely to give her away. She can use it later to store whatever supplies she’s able to grab. Tucked against the barricade, it’s indistinguishable from the other debris of the city and she doubts the patrol will notice it.

Her feet land on the roof of a dented SUV with a clang. She cringes at the noise, but there’s no one around to hear it. This side of the barricade is much tidier than the other — no trash litters the streets, and broken glass from building windows has been cleared away. She figures that the cars that line the wall are intended to not only strengthen the blockade, but to also help the patrol see over it and into the city. The barricade is much stronger than Adora would have expected. 

Adora slides from the roof of the car, looking for other survivors, but they must be inside. She checks her knees — they’re swelling — a _lot_ — and painful to walk on, but there’s no way she’s turning back now. 

Looking around, she scans the area for the base, seeing it in the far distance. Much farther than she hoped. Nevertheless, she begins walking until she’s standing right in front of it. 

Mystacor Mall.

A reinforced fence lines the building, the last line of defense in an attack. No one guards it now — she assumes patrol would radio in if backup was needed, and there’s no reason to guard empty streets.

Well. Empty but for Adora.

She finds the gate — it’s unlocked, luckily — and slips through, closing it quietly behind her. The mall is three stories high, mainly stone with shallow windows dotting the sides. Adora doesn’t have much time to take it in — a shadow flits across a window on the third floor and she rushes towards the building’s thick glass doors, grateful to get out of the clear.

Inside, the foyer is abandoned.

Whatever they have going on here, most of their people must be busy or sleeping. Adora circles the first floor and finds nothing, keeping to the shadows. The main floor houses a spacious food court and some tech stores, but they’d been all cleared away. She finds her way to the second floor, next, hoping for better luck.

Closing the stairwell door quietly, Adora hesitates for a moment before slipping her shoes off. In her condition, she won’t be able to run from any pursuers, so her best chance is to be quick and not get caught.

This floor is different from the first.

For one, it’s not empty. Adora passes by a furniture store, rearranged in a mess. Survivors of every age crash on couches and beds, dead exhausted. For a moment, Adora feels a pang of brief, intense jealousy before shaking her head to clear her thoughts. The lights are off inside, the doors closed. Someone has pulled the metal security bars over the window for protection, but there aren’t any guards.

A young boy rolls toward the window, an open cut visible on his arm.

_No one injured, huh?_

Adora shakes the voice away, creeping past.

Halfway on the other side of the mall, she’s still out of luck. Besides the makeshift barracks, there’s no one around and the stores are more of the same, cleared and useless.

Adora sighs and leans her head against the wall, dizzy. She hasn’t been in the city long, but she’s dehydrated, injured, and hungry. Her thoughts are turning sluggish from the pain in her knees, and it looks like there’s not going to be any help here.

Two sets of footsteps echo above her, paired with low voices. Adora gasps quietly, her attention snagging.

_Of course. Height is advantage — why wouldn’t they take it?_

Adora leans back into the shadows on the second floor, quieting her breath. Luckily, they’re directly above her, meaning they won’t be able to see her.

“...the gardens?” Adora only catches the tail end of the woman’s question.

“Not too good. We’ve got some crops started, but they’re not doing well,” a man responds.

“What do you need?”

“It’s not supplies,” the man responds. “Just...most of us who made it here are more of the ‘punch your feelings out’ guys, and not, you know, nature and growth.”

The woman sighs, clearly having hoped for better news. “Keep doing what you can. I’ll be up there later today to check in with the gardeners on shift.”

“Thanks, Catra.”

“No problem.”

Adora’s eyes widen — where on the plane Catra had been calm and relaxed, now she’s tense and focused. Adora hadn’t recognized Catra through the dramatic shift in her tone, but now she berates herself for not catching on earlier. Hearing her voice, though, fills her with irritation and annoyance.

“And…” the man pauses, and the footsteps stop.

“What?”

“Well — we just don’t know if the crops will even be safe to eat, is all.”

Catra curses. Adora understands the problem. No one is 100% sure on what can spread the Horde virus, other than bites and scratches, both of which involve drawing blood. There could be any number of possible ways for the infection to spread that they don’t know about. If the soil or seeds are infected, the plague would likely spread like fire through the produce, infecting anyone who ate them.

There’s a pause and shuffling footsteps before Catra’s voice comes again. “For now just keep working at it, and make sure no one eats anything until we can find a way to test it.”

“Your call, boss.” His footsteps fade back the way they’d come, and Adora holds her breath, waiting for Catra to leave. After a door echoes in the man’s wake, there’s a small _thump_ and then the sound of fabric against the wall and Catra slides to the floor, presumably taking a moment to herself.

Adora takes a tentative step forward, lucky she removed her shoes earlier. She tiptoes past where Catra sits a floor above, to the stairwell. There, she listens closely. The mall is silent around them — most survivors Adora knows sleep during the day when an attack is less likely, and she assumes Mystacor Mall runs on a similar schedule.

There’s no way to open the stairwell door without the noise echoing throughout the abandoned mall, so she waits, wondering how long it’ll be before Catra leaves. Judging by how everyone seems to defer to her as the boss, she guesses it won’t be long before Catra is needed for something else important.

On the next floor, Catra flicks through papers, the rustling swallowed by the vacant space.

Adora fidgets, uncomfortable. Her gaze drifts across the floor — most of the stores are locked shut, but several have been completely cleared out, bare shelves staring at her from across the main walkway. In the shadows of one bare store, a blown-up grainy picture grins at her…

What. The fuck.

Momentarily forgetting the enemy above, Adora jogs forward, her footsteps quiet on the tiled floors. Her eyes widen in amazement and confusion — the picture is of Adora as a child, her sister’s comforting presence all but cropped out, only her arm draped over Adora’s shoulders. The smile young Adora boasts is not hers, no, it’s the awkward smile she was forced to make at the DMV when she took her ID photograph. Someone has photoshopped her ID photo onto a different picture, also of her, and for what? 

It takes her no time to recognize the rest of that picture — Halloween, with her sister, dressed like a doctor, and Adora, dressed like Wonder Woman. Before this mess, Adora kept it in her wallet and looked at it every day, a reminder of simpler times and happier people.

Underneath it, perhaps the strangest aspect of this situation, is the picture’s caption: **SHE-RA, THE PRINCESS OF POWER SAYS: WASH YOUR HANDS BEFORE YOU EAT!**

A paper down the hall rustles, and Adora turns her attention to it. It’s another poster, this one simply of her ID, with a single thumbs-up photoshopped onto the tiny square containing the picture of her face. Underneath this one: **SHE-RA, THE PRINCESS OF POWER SAYS: WEAR LONG SLEEVES WHEN GOING OUTSIDE!**

Down the hall from that one, there are dozens more, all a little different, but all, undoubtedly, Adora. Some are her face cropped on to actual Wonder Woman posters, some are the Halloween photo, and most are simply her ID, blown up to gigantic sizes. All of them have tips or a dumb motivational phrase underneath, some so cheesy that they must be satire.

Once again, Adora thinks: What. The _fuck._

Above her, Catra sighs, the sound echoing down to Adora. Stunned out of her confusion, Adora hurries back to the wall as best she can on burning legs. Catra opens a door with a _whoosh_. Adora wipes a speck of blood off the floor, cursing her ruined knees. If not for her fall, she wouldn’t be in this mess, although she supposes it was a good incentive to get her into the city.

Adora opens the stairwell door, taking a last look at the posters. Only hesitating for a moment, she drops a boot in the door and hurries back to the storefront, tearing down the first picture — the one that most reminds her of the photo she kept in her wallet — and folding it in her pocket. Shaking her head and resisting the urge to swear, Adora goes to get what she came for.

🗡️

There are more of the posters on the top floor. Some are smaller, but they mark every door frame, tattered and torn. She’s not sure what exactly this means, but seeing her face blown up, even if she’s a little kid in some of them, makes her travels feel like a weird, out-of-place dream.

Their main base is obvious. Lights glow from inside, casting shadows into the otherwise gloomy mall. Above the door frame, the words _Welcome to the Fright Zone_ are outlined in neon red.

The inside is...not what she expected.

Arcade games are everywhere, for one. There’s clear evidence of the apocalypse — maps line the walls highlighted in different colors, names and positions scribbled at intersections. In a roller rink to the side, tables hold a ridiculous amount of food, most of it bagged into individual meals. A schedule through next week outlines patrol, names and times scribbled in various colors of ink.

In the cupboards, she finds what she’s looking for. It’s enough supplies to last her a lifetime, but with a group as big as the one Catra has here, it’s honestly a little underwhelming. Adora hesitates before taking what she needs, making sure not to go overboard. Even if she’s mad at Catra and miffed she wasn’t allowed into the mall, Adora understands that Catra is doing what she can to help these people.

Gauze, antiseptic, advil, cream to stop the bleeding, a small sewing kit, and a handful of allergy pills. Come spring, Adora doesn’t want to give up her position with a sneeze. She leaves the rest, opting for the small handful of supplies. Who knows? Once she’s healed up, Adora might even be let into the mall voluntarily. After all, she is She-Ra, the Princess of Power. She gags at the thought. 

The arcade behind her is still deserted, but it’s getting late. Soon, the inhabitants of the mall will rise for the night shift, knowing they’ll need the reinforcements. Adora grabs her meager bundle of supplies and turns to leave. She rushes past the games to the exit and...oh _man,_ is that _Beast Island_? She used to play that game all the time as a kid — her and her sister would compete to keep the top spot at their local arcade, their names the only ones on the leaderboard. They would bike downtown weekly, quarters in their pockets for games and ice cream after.

Adora needs to leave.

But...it’s been so long since she’s had any sort of fun, and she’s kind of dying to do something for herself that isn’t the barest minimum of survival.

She toggles the controller, and the screen lights to life. It comes up on the leaderboard, top nine spaces filled with ‘CAT,’ the tenth slot belonging to ‘KYL.’

Adora grins — Catra’s high score isn’t anywhere near what she and her sister used to get — she could top the board with her eyes closed. She glances over her shoulder — no one. Turning back to the game, Adora presses start.

Later, when Adora turns away from the game smiling smugly, Adora sees another picture. It’s above the door frame, just low enough to touch as you pass underneath it, small, hard, and plastic. 

Her ID. Adora almost laughs at the sight, her name and address on full display for anyone to see. She briefly considers stealing it back, but — while the medical supplies may go unnoticed — something tells her this ID is somewhat of a sacred object. Shaking her head, she leaves quickly, wondering if she’ll ever get answers for what’s going on _there._ On the way out, she taps her own picture lightly, remembering Entrapta’s words of luck.

Back at Light Hope, Adora cleans and bandages her injuries. She’ll be fine with rest and time, but her thoughts linger on the encampment two miles to the west, and the woman running it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> same room but no interaction,,, smh adora go!! get your girl!!! anyway this ch was a bit of a monster lol i hope y'all liked it, let us know what you thought!! :) - xandrillia


	5. System Failure

“Well — we just don’t know if the crops will even be safe to eat, is all.” Catra understands her friend’s worry — can the horde virus infect plants? Scientists never answered that question before this whole thing started, but the limited evidence they’d collected had pointed to  _ yes. _

“Fuck,” Catra says simply, the curse coming from low in her throat. “For now just keep working at it, and make sure no one eats anything until we can find a way to test it.”

Grizzlor begins walking away, throwing over his shoulder as he walks away, “Your call, boss.”

_ Your call, boss.  _ Catra shudders. She’s never thought of herself as a leader, and yet, everyone here pictures her as one. The responsibility is getting to her head, but more than that, the fear, the crippling fear that her decisions could potentially lethally affect someone’s life, clouds her everyday thoughts. 

The pressure is taking a toll on her physically, as well. Now, her legs feel weak and shaky, and she sinks to the floor, giving herself time to breathe and think. She sets her papers to the side, Lonnie’s inventory reports worryingly low.

If she decides to abandon the garden project now and the seeds actually  _ are  _ infected, she would prevent countless unnecessary deaths. 

However, in the case that the food is perfectly fine, discontinuing their efforts could cause everyone to needlessly starve along the line.

There’s really no way to know if the food is safe — except, of course, eating it, testing it out. 

But how would they decide who would take the risk? Would they pick the weakest among them? That seems cruel. Or just a volunteer? No, she wouldn’t want  _ any  _ of these people to put their lives on the line, especially if it’s at her order, matter how big the possible reward. 

No one, except…

Catra sighs and rises from her position on the floor. Straightens her jacket, runs a hand through her hair. Looks to her left, at the staircase leading to the exit, and begins walking without much other thought. She knows what has to happen next.

🛡️

Catra steps off the ladder, swinging a leg over the side of the roof. There’s an access door in the middle of the gardens leading straight into the mall, but they bolted it shut weeks ago. Zombies can’t use ladders, so blocking the door effectively cut off their only path to the roof.

Jumping down, Catra stands unsteadily, disconcerted in the midafternoon sun. She’s been pulling night shifts lately, when the most help is needed, and hasn’t slept since the evening before.

When she looks up, her blood turns to ice.

“What are you doing?” Catra whispers, her eyes fixed on one of the gardeners. There are two of them on shift now, siblings. The boy stops chewing, his eyes widening. In a moment, Catra’s at his side. She pulls his hand away from his mouth.

“Spit it out!” she shouts, too loud. She reaches a hand for his face but the boy pulls back. Tears pool in his eyes.

“No, I’ve — ”

“You can’t  _ do _ that,” Catra protests. She shakes the beans from his hand. “It’s not safe — ”

The kid wrenches free, stepping back to stand near his sister. “I know, okay?” he shouts, voice wavering.

“Then why did you — ”

“Stop! Just stop,” the boy shouts. He presses a hand over his eyes. Catra looks to his sister, who rolls a pea between her fingers.

_ Oh. _ Catra pauses, stunned.

“Why…” her voice trails off. The boy swipes a hand over his eyes, smearing his tears.

“If the crops are good, it’ll save a lot of people,” his sister says evenly, her eyes on the plants at her feet. She picks a piece of carrot from her teeth. “It had to be done. Someone had to do it.” 

“But we don’t know if the soil, the crops,  _ anything _ is safe — we don’t — “ Catra pauses, taking a steadying breath. Everything is spinning away from her, spiraling out of her control. “You could become infected. You could  _ die _ — ”

The girl cuts her off, placing a comforting arm around her brother. “And we decided that this was a risk we needed to take.”

Catra shakes her head, pacing back across the rooftop. These kids — these  _ stupid _ kids, probably only fifteen or sixteen and full of so much arrogance and courage — “We could have found another way,” she protests, lying through her teeth.

“Not really,” the boy mutters. His breathing is even now, red fading from his face, and he attempts a joke. “Loosen up, Catra. We’re just having a snack.” The girl laughs quietly. 

Catra crosses her arms over her chest, defensive and protective of these kids, but not knowing what to do. There isn’t anything she can do, really. “I don’t know what will happen to you.”

The boy shrugs. “We’ll know soon enough.”

The siblings exchange a nervous smile. They’re a team, that much Catra can tell. She herself remembers sharing the same look with her friends whenever they rebelled against Shadow Weaver, choosing to do what they believed to be right despite her batshit teachings. 

“Anyway,” the girl calls, sing-song. “Don’t pretend you weren’t planning the same thing.”

Catra feels herself clench her fists, her sharp nails likely drawing blood from her palms. “Don’t pretend you know me,” she hisses, knowing that the girl is right.

She looks afraid. “I —I wasn’t—” 

Luckily for the both of them, the girl’s stammering is cut off by the clanging of someone else struggling up the ladder. It’s Kyle, panting. Catra turns to him expectantly, momentarily ignoring the siblings. 

“Catra! Grizzlor said you’d be up here,” Kyle coughs up, hands on his knees. “Boy, that’s a high climb. Didn’t think I’d make it! Halfway through I was seeing my grandmother—” 

“What? What is it?” Catra snaps. 

He takes a breath. “It’s—it’s the medical supplies. I think someone was into them.” He swallows. “And — whoever it was — they didn’t tell us.” 

Catra pauses, taking it in. “What did the person take?” 

“Bandages, needle and thread, cream, gauze,” he lists, counting on his fingers. “And...other stuff like that. Nothing else is missing. I’ve asked around, no one knows who took it, or why.” He gives Catra a knowing look. “I think...someone may have been bit, and they’re trying to keep it a secret.” 

Catra is thinking the same thing. If it was an outside thief — of which they’ve had a few attempts — they’d probably steal more than just medical supplies. It makes more sense for a small robbery like this to be an inside job. 

She turns to the siblings behind her. They look...fine, honestly. They’re chatting quietly, looking into each other’s eyes and checking for dilation. “Okay, Kyle. Send Grox up here to watch these two. Tell her to inform me immediately if they start to show any signs of...well, anything. Where were the supplies taken from?” 

“The Fright Zone.” 

“Brave,” she mutters, and then, “let’s go.” 

🛡️

“Here, they took from these cupboards,” Kyle says, gesturing. “I was doing inventory when I noticed it.” 

“Hmm,” Catra says, thinking. “We should interrogate people.” Her voice turns commanding. “Walk through the barracks. Look for anyone who looks even mildly injured and inspect their wounds.” 

“I don’t get it,” interjects Lonnie from across the room. “That feels like too much.” 

Catra tries to ignore her. “Quarantine anyone with an open injury for a few days. Question them about where they’ve been, who they’ve seen. We can’t be too careful.” 

“Catra, calm down,” Lonnie says, louder this time. “What’s the big deal? You’re acting psychotic. It might just be a bruise.” 

Catra turns, initiating searing eye contact. “ _ Might  _ isn’t good enough for me, Lonnie.” 

“It’s enough for me. Those people don’t deserve that.” 

“There could be a horde walking among us, don’t you understand?!” Catra’s answer is snappier than she intended. “Do you think it’s  _ easy  _ making these decisions? Anyone with an injury is a threat, plain and simple. You know the infection spreads through any open wound.” 

“Well, take a look at this,” Lonnie says, lifting her sleeve and revealing a large, bandaged injury on her bicep. “I took some supplies last week to help with this scrape. I didn’t tell you because it doesn’t matter. I’m not a zombie. And I’m sure that’s the case with this thief. You can  _ trust  _ these people, Catra. You can trust  _ me. _ ” 

“Can I?” She looks at Lonnie’s arm and scowls. Kyle’s eyes flick between them, worried.

Lonnie is taken aback. “Are you insinuating  _ I  _ took this stuff?” 

“Maybe I am. You’re my only suspect, after all.” She squints. “Where did you even  _ get  _ a scrape that big, Lonnie? Huh? On your arm, no less. A wound like that, who knows whether it got infected or not?” 

“Here’s a question, Catra. Who gave you the authority to make these decisions?” Lonnie steps closer to Catra, invading her space. “Who, exactly, decided you can boss us around like this? Lock up the people who came to you for help?” 

Catra has nothing to say to that. 

Lonnie smiles devilishly, knowing Catra’s weak spots and intending to use them. “Every day you remind me more and more of Shad —”

“ _ Don’t, _ ” Catra growls, cutting her off with her palm. “Just  _ don’t,  _ Lonnie. I don’t want to do this.” 

“Hey,” Kyle says weakly, placing his hands on either of their chests and pushing them back gently. “Guys. This isn’t helping.” 

“She didn’t answer my question,” Lonnie snarls. “Acting like you are some prodigal leader. Like you know what’s best for the group, without even asking us. I’m sick of it. You’re not gonna torture those people because you have a ‘hunch’ that one of them’s been bitten.” 

Catra gives up trying to keep this civil. “It isn’t a fucking  _ hunch,  _ Lonnie! This is the fucking apocalypse! And I intend to survive it, and bring the rest of you with me, whether you like it or not!” She lets out an aggravated breath and storms away before Lonnie can react, finding herself in front of the Beast Island game. She instinctively turns it on. 

Lonnie taps her foot impatiently. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna play that stupid game  _ again, _ ” she mumbles, having no comeback to Catra’s earlier comments. 

“I just —” Catra toggles the controller, the screen whirring to life. “I just need to calm down.” 

“Whatever. Be like that.” Lonnie turns, going behind the prize counter to sharpen her axe. “Avoid confrontation. Like always.” 

“I’m not —wait.  _ What the fuck is this?! _ ” 

Lonnie sighs, the scraping of metal on stone echoing throughout the room. “What is it now?” 

“My...my top score!” Catra’s mouth falls open into a perfect O as she looks at the leaderboard. “Someone beat my top score!” 

“Aw, that means I’m not on the leaderboard anymore,” Kyle mumbles. “I was so close to ninth place.” 

“Shut up, Kyle! Who did this?!” Catra’s becoming extremely animated, worrying her friends. She glares at the screen, wondering how this day could get any worse. “ _ Who the fuck is POP?”  _

Kyle laughs nervously, hoping it’s a joke. “Aw, come on, it’s okay—” 

“I said,  _ who the FUCK _ —” 

“We don’t know!” Lonnie explodes. “It’s obviously not one of us!” 

“Well, who else plays Beast Island?! It has to be someone! Rogelio, is it you?!” 

He holds up his hands in a surrendering gesture, eyes wide. 

“Fine.” Catra turns to Lonnie, death in her eyes. “Lonnie, it better not—” 

“It’s not me, Catra! It’s not any of us! Only you and Kyle play that game, and he’s terrible!” 

“Hey,” he protests quietly. 

She turns back to the game, kicks its base. “What does POP even mean? Is that initials? Did Penelope do this?!” 

“Rogelio’s saying something,” Kyle alerts, and Catra spins around. 

_ P-O-P,  _ he signs.  _ Princess of Power.  _

Catra halts. Wait. 

No, it can’t be. That’s a coincidence, for sure. Or someone playing a joke. The She-Ra thing is the longest running joke Mystcacor has. 

She’s just about to say this when two purple ponytails bound into the room, shouting something unintelligible. It’s Entrapta, and Catra is usually in the mood for her intense optimism, but not today. 

Catra interrupts her rambles a little too harshly. “Entrapta,  _ please!  _ We’re trying to get to the bottom of something here!” 

Entrapta is unperturbed. “Catra, didn’t you hear me?!” she repeats, waving a small piece of paper. “ _ I saw her!”  _

“Saw  _ who?”  _ Catra says, exasperated. 

“She-Ra!” 

The air in the room grows still. Catra speaks through her teeth: “ _ What?”  _

“She-Ra! In the city! She wanted to get into Mystacor, I told her no, of course, because she was injured, but I got a picture!” Entrapta shows off the Polaroid. Despite the fact that the girl’s face is partially covered by her own hands, it’s undoubtedly her. Catra would recognize that ponytail anywhere. “See? It’s her! I had no idea she was a real person! Crazy, right? Hey, why do you look so weird?” 

“I—I can’t—” Catra raises her hand to her forehead, connecting the dots as quickly as possible. “You said she was injured?” 

“Yeah, bloody and everything. Mostly her legs. Kinda gross!” 

Catra closes her eyes. “Did you mention me?” 

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I?” 

She doesn’t respond this time. She just thinks.  _ Oh. So this was a revenge thing. Steal my supplies, beat my high score. Great. Just great. And, wow. I can’t believe she’s alive.  _

Catra has barely processed this information when Entrapta speaks again. “Anyway, that’s not even the reason I came in here. I just remembered I had the photo when I saw her ID again.” 

“Well—” Catra rubs her temples. “What is it, then, Entrapta?” 

“There’s a fire.” She smiles wide.

“There’s a—?!”

“A fire, yeah. A few blocks outside the barricade. Spreadin’ fast, you know how those things are. Anyway, should we do something?” 

Catra glances backwards at the game. She-Ra will have to wait. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooooooh-kay. things are kicking into gear. & as always, thank y'all so much for the wonderful comments <3 - xandrillia


	6. Stranded

“Entrapta, Lonnie, you guys are on the fire team. Entrapta, can you rig Emily up to a fire hydrant or something? I know we have that hose—” 

“I can try. Boy, this is exciting!” Entrapta squeals with delight and clings to Lonnie’s arm. 

Catra’s mind is almost working faster than she can speak. “But that’s not enough. If that fire hose actually works, you two probably can’t control it alone. We need another person. We need...more muscle.” 

“Aren’t I enough—!?” Lonnie begins. 

“Now’s not the time!” Catra says urgently. “You can’t do it alone! We need muscle. Someone with a firm grip.” 

A crowd of the other survivors has gathered outside of the Fright Zone, having heard of the fire and feeling eager to help. A woman steps from the crowd. She has a white pixie cut and dark, bold makeup (how on earth is she finding makeup during the apocalypse?). More noticeable than her fashion choices, though, is her towering height and frame — at well over 6 feet and wearing a ratty shirt with cutoff sleeves exposing her _very_ buff arms, she’s downright intimidating. 

“Um, I might be of some assistance,” she says in a husky voice. “I’m Scorpia, the one living in the cosmetic store down on the second floor? Anyway, people have always said I give great hugs — well, my moms used to say it, at least — so, I guess that could be a testament to my strength? I’m trying to sound modest here, I’m really not a fighter, more of a lover, actually, I mean, I _did_ play shot put for a few years, and I’ve boxed my entire life—” 

So, not intimidating. 

Catra cuts her off gently. “That’s enough, Scorpia. You’re perfect for this job. Join Entrapta and Lonnie at the front lines.” She gestures out the door, and the makeshift firefighters scurry out, Entrapta muttering something about water pressure.

“The rest of you, barricade patrol. If the fire reaches our wall, organize. Put it out. Form a fire brigade. I don’t care.”

The crowd murmurs in agreement, all scattering in different directions to grab supplies. 

“Rogelio, Kyle, you’re on horde watch. You see any zombies, either push them back or call the troops in. It’s not worth it. If it’s between putting out the fire and running from the horde, _always_ pick the horde.” 

They nod solemnly. 

Soon, Catra is deserted, standing in the abandoned Fright Zone and feeling downright sick inside. She hates sending people into danger, but sometimes she’s left without a choice. 

Once she’s significantly calmed down, a process which takes a few long minutes, she darts to her room to grab a leather jacket and her favorite knives, intending to join her troops on the battlefield. 

That’s the idea, anyway. The plan is thwarted soon after she runs down the stairs to the second floor, because what she _expects_ to see is, well, nothing. Most everyone is pitching in to put out the fire. And what she actually _does_ see is...someone. 

It’s someone she’d remember if she had met before. On the bottom floor directly below her, a girl dashes through the center hallway, easily seen from the floor above. She’s moving boldly and without hesitation, almost as if she knows that everyone is preoccupied, dragging an absolutely massive duffle bag behind her, stuffed full. Catra can’t see her face, just the top of her head — short, fluffy hair dyed bright purple and pink. Something trails behind her — a cape? Who wears a cape — especially in the apocalypse? Catra’s pretty sure that’s a safety violation of some sort.

“Hey!” Catra yells, cupping her hands around her mouth to amplify her voice, making it sound much lower than usual. She’s giving the girl the benefit of the doubt — she’s probably just trying to help with the fire. After all, what are the odds that Mystacor would get robbed twice in one day? 

The girl screeches to a halt and looks around for a brief moment, unable to source the sound from so high above. She, too, cups her hands and calls out: “Bow? Is that you?” 

“Wh—no, it’s—who _are_ you?!” 

Now the girl looks up, and the pair makes distant eye contact. They say nothing for a moment, but Catra can tell from her change in expression that they’re both thinking the same thing: _Uh oh._

A beat of silence, and the girl is on the move again, throwing the bag over her shoulder and running twice as fast toward the exit. 

Catra looks around for backup, but there’s no one. It’s up to her. “Stop! Thief!” she shrieks, dropping over the railing to the second floor, hitting the ground in a light roll and springing to her feet. “I said _stop!_ ” she repeats, running after the intruder. 

Her words do nothing. The girl is already pushing through the main door, barely hesitating to throw a small red canister over her shoulder. Only when it hits the ground does Catra realize what it is — a homemade smoke bomb.

Whipping her jacket off, Catra throws herself on top of it, trying to smother the rising gray smoke, but there’s _another_ canister nearby, burning away. Catra coughs and curses, getting up from the floor and stumbling to the exit through the haze. There’s no way the bombs should have worked this well, but she can barely tell where the entrance is.

She breaks through the main doors, hacking and wheezing, only to see the purple-haired girl sprinting down the street, almost a block away. She’s moving so fast she might as well be teleporting. Catra isn’t equipped for this, but the girl has clearly taken too much, and Catra _needs_ those supplies.

Today, Catra lost medical supplies.

Today, she was not fast enough to stop two young kids under her care from risking their lives for hers.

She allowed Adora to break in and inflict possibly irreparable damage on her home.

A fire is threatening her base and the lives inside, all of which she has sworn to protect.

Right now, Catra is angry, and she is going to _win._

Pushing through the fence just outside the mall, she takes off, concrete pounding beneath her feet. She’s gaining.

Inventory, leadership, plans, and supervision — none of that ever clicked for Catra exactly like fighting did. Sure, she can talk her way out of pretty much any tight corner and strategize better than most military generals, but talking has nothing on the rush of adrenaline she feels now, the cool evening breeze against her face.

Half a block to the barricade (which is definitely smoking at this end, and it appears as though her team is currently a few blocks to the left, but Catra doesn’t have time for that), Catra catches the thief. She grabs her elbow, pulling her back and tackling her to the ground. The girl has something else now, but it’s just a smoke bomb that serves to momentarily blind both of them. They curse in synch, coughing, and the girl tries to pull away from Catra, but her fingernails are digging into her arm and there’s no letting go now.

“Bow! BOW!” The girl raises her voice, shouting as she pushes at Catra’s face, still trying to blink the smoke out of her eyes. “Start up Swift Wind!” Catra hears tires squealing and shouting in the distance, but they’re still far away. The girl catches Catra in the stomach with her foot and her grip loosens — _damn it —_ and she takes the chance to shove something in Catra’s face.

Too late, she realizes what it is.

The flash bomb burns her eyes and sends a sharp pain through her head, dizzying her momentarily. Catra gasps for breath as she staggers to her feet, trying again to catch the girl. She knows she’s missing something, but there’s too little time because they’re getting away and it’s Catra’s fault, all her fault —

This time (third time’s a charm) Catra is fast enough. The girl falls into the passenger seat of a beat-up old truck, and Catra jumps into the truck’s bed, swinging herself over the gate and grabbing the edges of the vehicle to steady herself. Through the window, Catra sees the girl straightening in her seat, turning—

“Fuck!” The girl screams when she sees Catra ( _very elegant,_ she thinks dryly). “She’s on us!” But the driver — Bow? — doesn’t seem to notice, instead focused on driving straight at the barricade. 

“Where’s the hole we came in through?!” he screams at her. 

“I don’t know!” she yells over the sound of crunching gravel and squealing tires. “Make another!” The girl grabs the wheel while he leans out the driver’s side window, producing a weird, tripped-out crossbow from the floor and aiming at the wall. 

“Stop!” Catra yells, knowing there’s no use as she bangs her fist at the window in a futile attempt to crack the glass, or at least distract them.

Bow doesn’t listen, instead shooting the wall in front of them not a second too late. 

Catra ducks and covers, throwing her arms over her head. There’s an explosion and the car swerves, bumping over debris as they hurtle through the rubble that Catra’s team worked so hard to build.

The pair — basically, Catra gathers, an apocalyptic Bonnie and Clyde — instinctively celebrates for a moment after their escape before remembering their unwanted cargo. 

Catra is still crouched in the bed of the truck, fighting to keep her balance with eyes squeezed shut when she hears the girl’s voice carry through the open window: “ _Shake her off!”_

Catra frantically searches for something to hold onto, but there’s nothing. The girl had the foresight to bring the duffle into the cab with her, and the bed of the truck is completely bare. She grabs the side of the trunk in a desperate final attempt as the driver begins to swerve up and down the already bumpy road, nearly hitting buildings and, eventually, trees as he rockets away from the scene of the crime. 

She’s beginning to think that she may actually get through this when the truck bumps over a rock, making them fly, if only for a moment. Catra is launched from the bed of the truck, and there’s nothing to do but brace for impact as she soars through the air. 

Years of training under Shadow Weaver’s watch have trained her enough to land safely. She scrambles to her feet as quickly as possible, but the car is already yards away, its passengers whooping and cheering as they speed off into the trees. The last thing she sees is its license plate: SWFTWIND.

A further pursuit is hopeless. Catra has failed. Again.

With nothing else to do, she tries to orient herself in her new surroundings. A field covered in tall grass spreads out around her, about an acre from the treeline of the Whispering Woods. The city is probably a few miles to her south, but her eyes were clenched shut for most of that car ride — she’s lost.

Catra brushes dirt off her hands, trying to catch her breath. She’s a little beat up but not bloody, which might just save her life. The sun sits low in the west, and Catra cringes at the sight. She doesn’t have long.

 _I could follow the tire tracks back to the city_ , she thinks. _But the sun’s going down fast...I don’t want to be stuck without cover_ . Are the woods her best bet? She _hates_ the woods. But walking back, being caught on the open plains...she’d hate that, too. 

“Fuck you,” Catra whispers to the night, to the thieves, to her two shitty options, and to herself. She looks to the north, deeper into the forest. Already, she sees shapes shifting in the distance, muted noise paired with their movement. Hordes, people, animals — she doesn’t know. To the south, endless grass, but glass glints through the sparse trees, the windows of buildings catching the light of the setting sun. 

She’s always been a city girl, anyway.

A knife in each palm, Catra reluctantly starts back, prowling through the grass with her weapons at ready. The sun touches the horizon. Under her feet, the tracks become harder to see. 

In the tall grass, someone laughs. It’s a laugh without humor, light and spiraling into the sky.

Catra turns toward the sound immediately. It wasn’t a human sound — maybe once, but not anymore. It’s just dark enough that she can’t see quite clearly, but her eyes haven’t adjusted to the full night yet, and there’s no moon to light her way.

_I am not dying tonight._

She grips her knives tighter and picks up her pace, walking sideways so she’s facing the direction the laugh came from. If there’s one, there will be more. The wind whistles through the grass, bringing the smell of smoke and metal with it. She cringes as it stings her eyes, further incapacitating her vision. Her team must not have gotten the fires out in time — she can only hope that they can get to safety before full night falls.

The laugh comes again, high and spinning. Another voice accompanies it, also from the woods behind her, and there’s shuffling, shuffling _everywhere_. Fear closes a hand around her heart. She can’t fight them all — not with so little visibility and unfamiliar terrain.

Turning on her heel, Catra points herself to the city and _runs._

From what she hears behind her, they’re moving, too. They can’t run, or, at least, not well, but they have stamina — whatever pain she feels won’t hinder the hordes. They move behind her steadily, unceasing, as she stumbles over rocks and sticks and everything else nature has to offer. 

It’s not long before Catra realizes she’s out of time. She has to stop and fight. She searches desperately for a good place to stand her ground. Her bad luck leads her to a cliff dropping beneath her, something her captors definitely did not drive up on the way out. Having lost the tire tracks, she curses, knowing the most direct route to the city lies in the forty foot drop drop in front of her. Given time and light, she could make it, but now...

She’s got herself cornered.

Around her, the night is alive with life — or, what used to be life. Behind her, the cliff drops in forty feet of loose dirt, roots poking through the coarse soil. With time, she could make the climb. Without, she’ll have to stand her ground. The grips of her blades snap into her palms as she turns for the first time to face her enemies, half grateful she won’t have to watch her back, half terrified that she has nowhere to run.

There are forty of them now, maybe more and still coming. They stare at her blankly, black eyes reflecting the moon, their flesh rotting off their skeletons and their blood literally boiling. She knows from experience that they’re like fire to touch, that they will leave burns on her skin if they can’t leave a bite. She also knows that the only way to take one out is to aim for the head. 

The first one is easy. She throws her first knife with precision, lodging it into the skull of the nearest member of the horde. The body instantly drops, so she leaps forward, retrieving the steaming weapon and backing up against the cliff once more. 

If their brains were functioning, this action may have scared the rest off. But, of course, it doesn’t. They continue their approach, the next two gaining speed as they grow closer to their prey. For these, it’s a roundhouse kick with her tough leather boot followed by two knives, hitting them each squarely in the temple. 

She knows the group is closing in, but she chances a run for her weapons once again, grabbing one but abandoning the other, the body overrun by the group. 

Backing up, she holds her ground until the next zombie is mere feet from her, not willing to miss. She holds her arm high and aims for the head, but its teeth get too close for comfort, and she instead lodges her other knife into its stomach to halt it temporarily. It looks down, confused but unhurt (its pain receptors died a long time ago), while she takes a few steps back. Her heels hang over the drop of the cliff, she lunges forward, grabbing the knife and kicking the creature down. She takes a breath and stomps on its head, once, _twice,_ before the arm of her next foe reaches out, into her vision. With a yelp, she retreats to the cliffside again. 

She’s killed four so far, but there are far too many — sixty or seventy now, and the noise only draws more attention. Her weapons are dwindling. She is backed up to a fall that might not kill her, but the aftermath would. She’s seconds away from being overrun by an entire group of hordes. 

If there would be a time for Catra’s life to flash before her eyes, it would be now. 

Instead, sirens. 

Sirens? 

Catra opens her eyes, which she didn’t realize were closed, to see that the zombies have stopped as well, turning towards the sound. A sound which is, undoubtedly, a wailing siren, coming from directly to her left. 

Lights flash over her as she turns, raising an arm against the brightening headlights.

She has no time to think before the vehicle — a firetruck, she realizes — plows through the line of hordes closest to Catra, taking out a dozen in one run. It doubles back, swinging wildly close to the cliff’s edge, and takes out another line, repeating the process. Its sirens continue blaring as it hits zombie after zombie, killing most and incapacitating the rest. The few stragglers that survive flee, scared off by the blinding lights.

As it swerves past Catra again, she sees fire spilling out of one window — a strange irony, she notes. A man hangs out the window, a can of hairspray in one hand and a lighter in the other, grinning as he aims at the zombies escaping the truck’s reckless path. He’s not doing much to help, and nearly hits Catra at one point, but she appreciates the intent.

Eventually, the truck skids to an uneasy stop near Catra, only feet away from the cliff’s edge.

“ _Catra!”_ yells a familiar, nasally voice. “That’s our friend! I think that’s Catra!” 

“Hop on,” shouts another voice, which she can’t place. “Grab the ladder. We gotta go.” 

Not in the mood to question it, Catra leaps forward and grabs the lower rungs of the ladder. The fire engine immediately lurches forward, nearly giving her whiplash and narrowly sweeping her away from the jaws of a nearby horde. 

Catra clings on for dear life on the side of the truck as the firetruck hurdles to terrifying speeds, rocketing through the prairie. Eventually, it slows to a stop, sirens silenced, and Catra lets go, falling to the ground and landing flat on her back. 

She lies there for a moment, trying to catch her breath, when two pairs of feet approach her, the first one in a pair of dark black tennis shoes, the other in rather dainty tan boots with a high heel. 

The owner of the tennis shoes is a woman. She has blue hair plaited into a neat braid and a surprisingly stoic expression. She stands over Catra with her arms crossed, face unreadable. Meanwhile, attached to the boots is a man. He smiles widely behind a thick mustache, jumping from foot to foot in excitement as Catra struggles to prop herself up. 

The woman is the first to speak. “You Catra?” she drawls in a deep, even voice.

Catra coughs. “Um...yeah.” 

“It’s her, guys,” she calls out to the truck, and Entrapta and Scorpia burst out the passenger side door. 

“Catra! Catra! What are you doing out here?!” Entrapta calls, running towards her. “Why aren’t you back at the mall?!” 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Scorpia adds, right at her side. They stop a few feet short from Catra, hiding behind the man. “Are you...bit?” 

“No,” Catra mutters, looking her limbs up and down. She’s burned and beaten up, but with no open wounds. “I think I’m okay.” 

The woman offers Catra a hand, which she takes. They stand almost chest to chest for a moment, but Catra backs up awkwardly, wanting to assess these new people. 

“Who...are you?” she asks, hiding her nervousness.

“I’m Mermista. This is my firetruck. Sorry if I scared you.” Her tone suggests that she is not sorry in the slightest. “I saw the fire outside your mall and helped your crew put it out. Then, these two—” she gestures at Entrapta and Scorpia, who wave— “told me they couldn’t find you. I said I’d help them look.” 

“And I’m SEA HAWK!” announces the man, striking a pose. “ _I’m_ the one who set the fire!” 

Catra gapes. “You _wh_ —” 

“Don’t mind him. He’s an idiot.” Mermista scowls at him, and he smiles sweetly. 

“But...wait...how did you find me?” Catra asks, looking around. “I was in the middle of nowhere.” 

Mermista puts a hand on her hip, giving Catra a quick once-over that she can’t quite read. “Saw a prime headed this way, followed by a bunch of other hordes, so I knew they’d seen something,” she says, in way of explanation, except that term doesn’t make any sense to Catra. 

She blinks. “A what?”

“Prime,” the woman clarifies. Catra exchanges a look with Scorpia and Entrapta, who look just as confused as she is. Mermista sighs, long and exasperated.

“Primes! Horde Primes! The smart ones!” Sea Hawk jumps, eager to explain. He waves his bottle of hairspray in excitement, and Catra leans away. Having seen the damage the man is capable of inflicting with the tools, she’s not eager to have them next to her face. The man continues, unconcerned. “They can communicate to the rest of the horde, you know. It’s why the zombies can group together so fast, and why they travel in packs. Say, do you know you’re on fire?”

Catra looks down, seeing he’s not wrong, and quickly pats her arm until the small flame is out. She turns back to the mustachioed fool, doing her best to not glare. “So...you’re telling me these things have mind control?”

“Not exactly,” Mermista explains. “The primes just seem to be the leaders of the group. You know, where the primes go, the horde follows. They control them. Not, like, with language or anything. It’s almost like they share a mind. And the primes, well, they’re the leader of that mind.” 

Catra nods, understanding. “So, if you kill the prime…” 

“The horde is left headless. I mean, they still try to attack, but it’s not organized, it’s not a unit. Because when the prime’s alive, they all receive...orders, I guess, in some way. They’re all thinking the same thing.”

“A hive mind!?” Entrapta cuts in with a squeal. Next to her, Scorpia jumps in alarm. “I’m sure their brains have been altered in some way to capacitate that, in ways you just can’t _imagine!_ Ohhh, the data I could collect if we could trap a living prime! Well — living being a subjective term given that—”

“Entrapta,” Catra says sharply before turning to the new people. “So, you have info on the hordes? On their behavior?”

They nod, Sea Hawk much more enthusiastically than Mermista. 

“Hm,” Catra says, contemplating. “Where are you living?” 

“This fire engine,” Mermista admits, gesturing widely. “It’s not much.” 

“And _I’m_ living wherever _she’s_ living!” proclaims the man, giving her a side hug. She groans.

“That’s a lie. I left his sorry ass behind a few days ago.” 

Catra looks in between them, confused by their relationship, but eager to invite Mermista to the team. “You don’t have to take this offer, Mermista, but...the Myscacor crew could really use you,” she says. “We have space, if you’re interested.” 

Mermista smirks, only thinking for a moment. “I think I am.” 

“And me?!” interrupts the man. “Do you have space for _Sea Hawk?!”_

“Um…” Catra smiles awkwardly. “Yeah...sure. If you learn to control your fire, I think you actually might be of some use to the team.” 

“Yes!” He fist pumps, and Scorpia celebrates alongside him. “Onward to my next ADVENTURE!” 

With that confirmation, the group piles into the truck together. Although it’s clear that Catra and Mermista would prefer to ride in silence, Entrapta and Scorpia chatter excitedly in the back seat, while Sea Hawk, who’s squished his way in between the front seats, carries on a conversation with himself.

“Wow, we really can’t thank you enough for this! Really! I mean, I guess there’s no ‘we’ anymore. You know, Mermista and I used to date. Go steady, if you will.” He chuckles. “In fact, we weathered out this outbreak together at the beginning. Until, of course, I set our base on fire by accident, and she decided we should go our separate ways. I’m still sorry for that fire, my dear—I mean, Mermista. Boy, it’ll be hard getting used to that one! Anyway, this fire, the one that reached your barricade — I’m sorry for that as well, have I apologized yet? — well, it _wasn’t_ an accident. I just wanted to set a little thing, you know, to grab her attention. I was getting really hungry and I knew she was still driving that firetruck around — she used to be a firefighter, you know — so I thought, hey, why don’t I light a little fire, just a little one, to get her to come back to me? Call me a romantic, but I just _love_ grand gestures! And you know what?! It worked! It got a little out of hand, sure, but it worked! She put the fire out, and now the power couple is back together! I mean, not together in _that_ way, but, you know, we’ve always worked so well together...I’m the fire, you see? And she’s the water. A balance! Perfect duo! Funny to call me the fire, actually, because before this all started I was a man of the sea…” 

As Sea Hawk continues, Mermista’s grimace grows larger and her driving grows more and more reckless. She plows over hordes with no remorse, veering widely off the path to hit the stragglers. At one point, she pops gum into her mouth, blowing and snapping bubbles over the sound of his voice. 

Back at base, the fires have been entirely put out, thanks to Mermista, but also to Catra’s crew. The makeshift firefighters are bandaging their wounds and beginning to re-fortify the damaged wall when the firetruck drives into view. They cheer, recognizing Mermista, and their cheers grow even louder when they realize Catra’s also aboard. She waves weakly as they drive up, wanting to put on a brave face for her troops, but it’s harder than usual. 

Sea Hawk, thinking the cheering is for him, takes a grand bow when he exits the vehicle. Mermista grabs him roughly by the elbow, dragging him behind her as they make their way through the crowd and to the mall. 

“So, I guess you guys will need a tour, someone to, you know, let you know how this place runs.” Catra scratches the back of her neck, thinking about how all she wants is some time to herself. “I guess...I guess I could do it for you.” 

Scorpia, sensing her exhaustion, speaks up. “Actually, if you wanna get some rest — you had to fight a few hordes back there, after all — um, I could handle it for you. Show them the ropes.” 

Catra is silently grateful, but all she does in response is nod. 

“And I’ll come too!” announces Entrapta excitedly. “I’ll show them my death ray!”

Mermista’s ears perk up at the sound of that. 

Sea Hawk, meanwhile, just laughs, loud and booming. “No need for a death ray, my friend! Point me towards aerosol cans and some matches and I’ll be fine! Oh, and, maybe, some food...a can of tuna, perhaps?”

At the doors, Scorpia gives Catra a comforting pat on the back before ushering everyone else away, beginning her tour in one of the kitchens, at Sea Hawk’s behest. 

Catra stands for a moment in the empty corridor, picturing her cot in the Fright Zone and wanting _nothing more_ than to go up there and curl up under the covers. 

She slowly begins making her way to the stairs, but after a step or two, she accidentally kicks something, something round and metal left on the floor. 

A smoke bomb canister. 

With a sigh, she remembers the thieves from earlier. Bow, and the girl with the cape. No one saw them but her. And no one knows what they took. 

Her duties as a leader getting in her way again, Catra decides to put off sleep to instead go through inventory, to find _exactly_ what was stolen. 

It’ll take her all night, she knows. 

Her first stop is the food cellar. At the door, a She-Ra poster smiles down at her. It’s the girl’s face pasted onto Wonder Woman’s, and the speech bubble coming out of her mouth contains bold text: 

**SHE-RA, THE PRINCESS OF POWER SAYS: DON’T TAKE FOOD WITHOUT PERMISSION!**

It once made her laugh. Now, it only reminds her of one of the worst parts of this shitty, shitty day. 

Bubbling up with rage, Catra tears the poster from the wall. It falls gracefully to the ground and Catra stares at it for a moment, two, before walking over it, over _her,_ into the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're so sorry for being so mean to catra,,, our bad but let us know what y'all thought!! & thank you sm for the comments <3 - xandrillia


	7. Ties That Bind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we just hit 100 kudos so THANK YOU 😭😭 I’m so glad people are enjoying the thing that consumed our lives for months lmao. thanks again lovelies💕💕 -a

Adora’s slumber is broken by the sound of a car engine puttering through the woods. 

She sits up straight in her treehouse, frantically searching for the source of the noise. No one’s ever driven a car into the Whispering Woods before. If someone did, they’re probably running from someone...or something. 

It takes her a minute to see it. It’s a white truck with pink and orange stripes, and it looks pretty beat up. She stays motionless, hoping that it’ll drive right by. However, it slows to a stop just a few trees away from her own Light Hope, the passengers tumbling out and falling onto the ground. 

Their chests rise and fall in unison as they catch their breath, clearly recovering from some sort of chase. 

“You okay, Bow?” breathes the first one, a short, pretty girl with a sparkly cape. 

“Yeah...you?” responds the second — Bow. He’s wearing a shirt that’s been ripped into a crop top to expose his stomach, and Adora stifles a laugh. 

The girl sighs. “I’m pretty sure I’ve been scratched.” 

“By a horde?! You know that scratches can cause—!”

“No, no. By that girl. The one who was chasing me.” She props herself onto her elbows, looking down at her legs and arms. “Man, her nails were sharp.” 

“Here, let me see…” he, too, sits up, looking over at his friend. “AAH!” he squeals, covering his eyes. 

“What? What?!” 

“Blood! Glimmer, you’re bleeding!” 

“Yeah, I know, it’s okay, Bow, really…” 

“No, no…” he peeks from behind his fingers. “Those look bad. Do you need stitches? Disinfectant?” 

“Um…maybe.” She rises uneasily to her feet, reaching into the truck and retrieving a duffle bag. She roots through it for a moment, before dropping it to the ground and kicking it in frustration. “Damnit.” 

“What?” 

“No medical supplies. That girl came out of nowhere, cut my stealing short. I just got food.” 

“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” moans Bow. “What’re we gonna do?” 

“It’s alright, Bow, really.” She touches him gently on the shoulder, and he picks his face up from his hands. They catch eyes and stare at one another for a moment. Adora half expects them to kiss. 

Adora feels uncomfortable. Should she be watching this? 

Suddenly, they both break from the trance, looking away quickly. The boy pretends to be fascinated by a nearby leaf and the girl blushes, turning back to the bag and rooting nonsensically through its contents. 

Glimmer clears her throat. “Um. Anyway. Yeah. I’ll be fine. I could use leaves as bandages or...something.” 

“That’s not enough,” he says quietly. “Should we...should we go back?” 

“Too dangerous. She knows about us now.” 

“Shit. This is bad.” 

_ Help them.  _

“What?” Adora whispers fiercely at the voice in her head. 

_ You heard me. Help them. You have medical supplies.  _

“No,” Adora mumbles back. 

_ Adora. You need people. You can’t do this alone.  _

“Yes, I can. I don’t want to risk it.” 

_ Risk what?  _

She swallows. “Losing someone. Again.” 

_ Adora…  _

“I don’t need friends. I don’t need people. I’m fine.” Her voice is rising, but the arguing couple below her hasn’t noticed her yet. “I can’t do it again.” 

_ Who says you have to be friends?  _ The voice is negotiating now, she can tell. 

“It’ll happen. It always does.” 

_ Let yourself be vulnerable, then. Open your heart. Take the risk.  _

She huffs out a breath. Why is she always right? “Fine. Just this once.” 

“Did you hear that?!” the girl yelps, looking around wildly. 

“What? What was it?” The boy stands, pulling out his crossbow and aiming it at the trees. 

“A voice! I heard a voice!” 

_ Here goes nothing,  _ Adora thinks angrily, and she speaks up. “It was me.” 

The two people do not react how she expected. Bow immediately fires an arrow that hits her tree square in the trunk, and the girl screams and and throws a small cylinder to the ground, enveloping the pair in smoke. 

Adora rolls her eyes. She hears them yelling and bumping into each other from inside the girl’s cloud, and more arrows whizz from out of it, hitting nothing. 

“Calm down!” she yells down at them. “I’m a person! I’m not infected!” 

The chaos from inside the smoke calms for a moment, and she hears them conferring with one another, coughing occasionally. 

“Come out of that smoke,” Adora calls. “It’s not safe.” 

“You’re not gonna…” 

“No, I’m not gonna hurt you,” Adora shouts. “I think I can help you.” 

“Help us?” the girl responds skeptically. 

“Your cuts. I have medical supplies. I don’t want to hurt you.” She scoots forward and drops her suitcase and sword (just in case) to the base of the tree before stepping carefully down the crooked ladder.

It takes another minute before the pair feels brave enough to leave their smoke cloud. They stumble out in front of Adora, coughing and waving the smoke away from their eyes. The boy puts down his crossbow at the sight of Adora, who’s sitting quietly at the base of her tree, large bandages covering her knees. 

“Hey,” she says quietly, trying to sound trustworthy but not friendly. “I’m Adora.”

He looks her up and down, eyebrows furrowed. “I’m Bow,” he responds, “and this is Glimmer.” He gestures at his friend, who waves awkwardly. “Sorry for trying to kill you.” 

“It’s no problem. Almost killed yourselves with that smoke bomb.” 

He chuckles. “Yeah. Um...how did you…?” 

“I have a tree house,” she says dryly, pointing upwards. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But you parked right under me. Ran over my flower patch.” 

_ Be nice.  _

Adora ignores the voice. “Anyway, I’ll do you a favor, I guess. Just got some new medical supplies for myself, but...you can take some. If you want.” She pushes the suitcase over. 

“Thanks,” squeaks Glimmer, shuffling forwards and unzipping it. She gapes for a moment. “Where did you get this?” 

“Mystacor.” 

“They let you in?!” 

“No, actually,” Adora explains. “They saw that I was bleeding and refused. So I just stole it.” 

Glimmer nods, respecting the move. “That’s what we just got back from.” 

“Figured. The girl who scratched you...two different colored eyes? Brown hair?” She stops herself from saying  _ attractive.  _

“Yeah, I think so.” Glimmer takes out the bottle of antiseptic and some gauze. “Couldn’t really tell.” 

“I think it was the Mystacor leader. Her name’s Catra. Don’t ask me how I know.” Adora groans, struggling to her feet. “She’s a real pain in the ass. That’s why I stole. Here, let me help you clean those.” 

“I would help,” interjects Bow. “But I really don’t like blood.” 

“This whole thing must be really tough for you then, bud,” Adora says nonchalantly, sitting in front of Glimmer and rolling up her pants to her knees, exposing her cuts. 

He sighs. “You don’t even know.” 

It’s quiet for a moment. Glimmer squeezes her eyes shut each time Adora pours the clear liquid onto the cuts, cursing softly under her breath. Adora works swiftly, finishing with this leg and moving on to the next. Bow watches through his fingers, concerned. 

Adora knows the answer to her next question, but she asks it anyway, just for the fun of it. “So, are you two a couple?” 

They begin stammering in unison, avoiding eye contact. 

“What?! No, we’re just friends, we wouldn’t ever —”

“No, no, I don’t think of her like that, no, not at all, never—”

“Okay, okay,” Adora says, hiding her smile. “I was just asking.” 

Bow coughs. “Nope. Just friends. Good friends.” 

“You two know each other before the apocalypse?” Adora rips a bandage off the roll with her teeth, wrapping it around a particularly nasty cut. 

“Yeah. We did. In fact, we were together when it started.” Glimmer looks at the ground. “We were having ice cream at the Kingdom of Snows. And this...man came in. He was bleeding a lot, and he had black eyes.” 

“We didn’t know it, but it was a horde. A zombie.” Bow shuts his eyes, remembering. “And I almost threw up, you know, because of the blood. But Glimmer grabbed me and we ran outside. Got in her car. Swift Wind, we call it. And just started driving.” 

“I didn’t get to finish my ice cream,” she mumbles. 

“Where’d you go?” 

“We tried to get to my house,” Glimmer sniffles. “But my mom, she...she was already…and my dad, well...” 

Bow cuts in gently, knowing Glimmer doesn’t want to talk about it. “So we tried my place next. Loaded up on supplies. And we camped out in the woods for a few weeks.” 

“It was nice, actually.” Glimmer looks at the sky, wiping away a tear. “We grew up together, right in these woods, so it wasn’t even that hard. We snuck into the city a few times to get things we needed - especially things to build weapons - but eventually...what was her name? Catra and her crew, they locked that place up for good. I’d heard they were doing handouts, but we were always injured on those days...”

“Terrible luck,” grumbles Bow. 

“...so they’d always turn us away. And we wanted revenge, I guess.” 

Adora nods. “I see.” 

“We’d been planning that raid for weeks,” Bow continues.” We were supposed to do it tomorrow, actually, but the whole place was preoccupied with this fire, so we pushed it forward.” 

“Wish we didn’t,” Glimmer mumbles. “We didn’t get nearly as much as we’d hoped.” 

Adora’s consumed with something. Pity, probably. Whatever it is, it makes her ache inside for these two kids. They don’t deserve this. None of them do. 

“You have a place to stay?” she blurts without thinking. 

They look at her quizzically. 

“Well, we do, but we’re pretty far away,” Glimmer says. “And we’re low on gas. Why do you ask?” 

“No reason, no reason…” 

_ Come on. Do it.  _

_ Do it, Adora. You need them. They need you.  _

“Um...because...because, you can stay with me, if you want.” She shrugs, looking down. “I mean, I wasn’t looking for a group, but...I don’t know. Maybe our chances are better if we’re together.” 

Bow and Glimmer look at each other, talking without words. It’s Bow who speaks for the both of them, smiling slightly. “Yeah that’d be pretty neat. I mean, for a while at least. Until Glimmer’s better, and we find more fuel for Swift Wind.” 

“That’s nice of you, Adora.” Glimmer smiles, her cheeks sparkly. “Really.” 

“Don’t read into it,” she mumbles, cursing herself for letting people into her life. “We’re a team. We’re not friends.” 

Bow doesn’t seem to notice her snappiness. “Whatever we are, thank you.” 

Before Adora can respond, there’s a rustling in the bushes, and a twig snaps. 

“What was that?!” Bow yelps, looking in the direction. 

Adora stands up quickly, helping Glimmer to her feet. “Probably a deer or something,” she says unconvincingly, backing up and picking up her sword. 

Bow loads his crossbow and Glimmer withdraws another bomb, stepping in front of him. “Should we…?” 

“I’ll check it out,” Adora says calmly, brushing past the quivering couple. She holds her sword - yet unused - above her head with both arms and takes a step forward. 

“Do you know how to use that?” Glimmer asks, referring to Adora’s sword. 

“Yes,” she lies. “You just swing it, don’t you?”

“I guess that makes —AAH!” Glimmer screams, pointing to a figure in the distance. 

Adora looks up, seeing it too. Yards away, walking amongst the trees, is a human, covered in blood. 

“Do I shoot?!” whisper Bow urgently, aiming at its head. It doesn’t seem to hear them. 

“No, I got it!” Adora yells, running in its direction. She’s excited to try out her sword. However, as she draws closer to the creature, it looks less and less like a horde. Sure, it’s absolutely covered in blood, but it’s almost skipping along the path, like a young girl. At one point, it stops and picks a flower, sniffs it, and puts it in its hair. 

Adora skids to a halt. What the hell? If it’s a person, then why are they covered in blood?  _ Is  _ that blood? It smells absolutely awful, tangy and sour, almost like a rotten fruit of some sort. 

“Um…” Adora chances talking to it. “Hello?” 

The figure swivels around nervously. When it sees Adora, it goes as still as a statue, and Adora finally recognizes the figure to be a woman. A bloody woman, but a woman nonetheless. 

“...hello,” she responds with a tentative wave and smile. For someone who appears to be incredibly injured, she’s calm. “You’re...not gonna hurt me, are you?” 

Adora thinks for a moment. If she’s bit, it would be merciful to end her now, wouldn’t it? “I don’t know,” she says simply. “Why are you bleeding?” 

The woman looks down at her arms, almost as if she’s surprised someone noticed. “Oh!” She starts laughing, throwing her head back. “Oh, I’m so sorry I scared you, but this isn’t blood!” She laughs some more, wiping it off to show her. “These are breezeberries!” 

Adora’s still suspicious. “Breezeberries? Aren’t those poisonous?” 

“Not to the skin, silly!” She smiles widely. “In fact, it might even moisturize. That’s not why I put it on, though.” 

“Then why do you…” 

“Masks my scent! They hunt by sound and scent, you know, their eyes aren’t great. So even when hordes are right on me, they don’t smell me, and if I stay still, I’m invisible! Plants are full of tricks like that. I’m a botanist, or,  _ was  _ a botanist. And plants, they’re currently the only friends I got.” The red juice drips down her face as she speaks, and she wipes it off casually with one hand. 

“Everything okay up there?” calls Glimmer, yards away. “What’s going on?” 

Adora turns over her shoulder to respond. “False alarm! She’s a person. A person covered in berries.” 

“Oh,” yells back Glimmer, pretending it makes sense. 

The girl swings her arms at her sides, looking behind her. “Well, I should really be on my way—” 

“Wait!” Adora can’t believe she’s doing this  _ again,  _ but plant knowledge is incredibly useful when your base is in the woods. “Um...we have food, and medical supplies, and a base back there. I mean, it’s a treehouse for one person, but I have plans to expand. Would you be interested in…?” 

“In staying with you?” the woman autocompletes. “I’ve been alone for so long, I don’t know…” she thinks briefly, before picking a flower up off the ground. “But I trust the plants.”

Adora blinks. “Huh?” 

As a way of response, she starts plucking petal after petal off of the large white flower. “Join the girl, walk away, join the girl, walk away,” she repeats, each petal representing an option. 

After a minute, only a single petal remains. She plucks it carefully, holding it out in front of her in awe. “Join the girl,” she says quietly. 

Adora scratches her neck, slightly confused. “So, does that mean…?” 

“I’d be  _ delighted  _ to partner up with you,” she says, extending her blood-red hand. Adora shakes it politely. “I’m Perfuma.” 

Adora grins, despite herself. “Adora. C’mere, I’ll introduce you to the others.” 

As she leads the new girl through the thick brush of the forest, the voice returns. 

_ I’m proud of you.  _

“Don’t be,” Adora mumbles. “It’s just temporary.” 

_ Either way. This is good for you, Adora. A team. You need this.  _

“No, I—” 

“Who’re you talking to?” Perfuma says gently, looking at Adora with concern. 

“No one,” Adora responds. “No one at all.” 


	8. The Price of Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don’t mind us just uhhhhh adding an extra chapter teehee -anyonesaunt

Lonnie shuts the car door quietly, scowling at the woods around her. Catra understands the feeling — at the edge of the Whispering Woods, everything is too loud. Animals chirp in the trees and underbrush, each rustling and creating too much noise for Catra’s comfort.

Catra, Lonnie, Kyle, and Entrapta have driven to the edge of the city with the intent to search for more supplies. None in their team had scoured the Whispering Woods yet, but a new recruit had mentioned plentiful fruit and detailed a map of where to find it. With a little luck, they might get seeds for new berry bushes for the gardens — which were proven safe by the brave siblings — as well as raid any abandoned homes they come across.

Catra doesn’t tell them, but her secondary mission is to search for Adora and, possibly, the other two thieves. The patrols have assured her that they aren’t living in the city; it’s too well guarded. The woods, therefore, are her best shot. 

Kyle snaps his fingers to catch their attention, and the girls turn to him. He signs his words nervously — less chance of being overheard by a horde. _Who wants to lead the way?_

Catra rolls her eyes, pulling her bag over her shoulder. Scanning the woods, she spots the trail the recruit described and jogs ahead, volunteering herself. They set off into the woods, Kyle cowering behind Lonnie and Entrapta and gathering plants and flowers with excitement. 

As they walk, Catra keeps a hand at the knives on her waist. They’re thin and lethal, and most importantly, soundless. In this new world, guns are more danger than they’re worth for their noise, but knives have become Catra’s specialty. Back home, everyone knows to keep their distance when she twirls them between her fingers, lost in thought.

Now, she loosens one from its sheath, eyes darting across roots. There are too many places to fall, too many ways to turn and get lost. They’re more likely to lose themselves before they get supplies, but for their team back home, that’s a risk they’re willing to take.

Looking up from the map in hand, Catra pauses. They’re on the right path, but some fifty feet in front of them a horde leans against the base of a tree. It’s midmorning, so most of the zombies should be inactive, but this one shifts slightly, head lolling.

Catra raises her hand over her shoulder, fingers spread, and her friends’ footsteps cease. They hold their breath, watching. They have hours before the sun sets, but the figure is swaying back and forward slightly, eyes unfocused. Blood drips from its chin.

Slowly, Catra crouches to the forest floor. She slides a throwing knife from her boot — she only has two more, if she loses this one, but plenty of regular blades as well — and rises, sighting the horde. It lets out a ragged breath, something close to a laugh, and pushes itself to its feet awkwardly.

Catra steps back, hoping it won’t approach. Neither her nor her friends have any open wounds, so it shouldn’t be able to smell any blood on them, and they’re perfectly still, so maybe, just _maybe_ they’ll have a dash of luck for once and it’ll leave them alone.

The horde turns away from them, back straightening. For a moment, Catra can almost imagine it’s a regular person and that they’re fine, out scavenging the woods the same as them. Then, it leans forward and begins to run, lopsided and lumbering.

Looking over her shoulder, Catra sees that Entrapta has come to the same conclusion as her.

“A horde prime,” Entrapta says breathlessly, too happily for Catra’s comfort. She’s shifting from foot to foot, clearly tempted to run up to it, and Catra places a hand on her shoulder to calm her. 

Catra closes her eyes, remembering what Mermista told her. Some zombies — maybe one in thirty — have a connection to others. Call it mind control or telekinesis — whatever it is, it means that some zombies can call for help miles away, alerting others of their presence or need for assistance.

Wherever this zombie is going, it’s responding to the call of a prime.

Wherever they’re headed, a survivor is in danger.

“We can’t save them,” Catra whispers. 

Lonnie shakes her head. “We don’t have enough time.”

“Too dangerous,” adds Kyle.

“Yes, yes, too dangerous,” Entrapta says, suppressing a smile. 

They all exchange a look. 

Catra unsheaths a second knife. 

Their footsteps are light and sure as they follow the zombie, darting under low branches and hurtling over roots. They’re fast — faster than any horde could be, and armed. They follow the figure ahead of them, staying safely behind so it can lead them to...wherever it’s going. Around the quartet, more hordes stumble through the woods, wailing but slow. Any horde that gets too close meets Catra’s knives in a single swift greeting.

“Circling...back,” Kyle huffs, leaping over a small stream. He’s right. The horde led them along the edge of the woods for a time, and now they’re altering course again, close to their parked car.

“Good getaway,” comments Lonnie. She’s much less winded than Kyle, her attention on the halfway-hidden hordes in the surrounding woods.

They pass the horde they had been following in exchange for another far ahead, moving faster. A shout reaches them from ahead, and the group exchanges a look. They might have time yet.

Slowing, the group splits. Lonnie and Entrapta keep the path they’d been taking, Catra and Kyle circling to either side. They dispatch zombies as quietly as possible with their weapons, but the hordes aren’t inclined to keep their silence.

Ahead, the voices have clarified into words. “I _said,_ back off!” A _crack_ echoes through the woods and their group ducks instinctively, hoping to avoid stray bullets.

“Darling, we can’t fight like this,” comes another voice. Through sounds of a scuffle, another gunshot rings through the woods, closer now.

Stepping through a last row of trees, Catra takes in the situation at a glance. Two women fight in the middle of the clearing, back to back. One stands very still, purple hair falling to cover her face, contorted in pain. The other woman, with white hair, dark skin, and flashing storm-grey eyes, turns quickly on the spot, doing more to cover them than the other woman. She takes a quick last glance over their surroundings, not noticing Catra through the foliage.

“We have to go,” the purple-haired one protests.

“But your ankle —”

“Run!”

“Wait!” Catra springs forward, taking three zombies down as she moves, but the women are already running deeper into the woods, towards where Kyle should be. Four zombies turn toward her voice, but she’s quick and only gets a slight shove to the shoulder for her efforts. Catra pushes off a tree trunk, following the women.

“Hey!” Lonnie’s voice echoes to her right — she must have seen the fleeing couple. “Stop!”

They’re spread too thin. Catra darts under a zombie’s outstretched arm and aims for the head, but this time, she’s too slow.

Stars burst across her vision as the world tips in her fall, light blurring as she crashes to the ground. Her jaw creaks as she gasps for breath, buzzing and uncomfortably hot. Something blocks the light above her. A foot comes to rest against her ribs and her breath escapes her in a gasp, but before she can react, something flashes across her vision — far too quick to be a zombie.

Kyle tackles the zombie off of her and she sits up, wheezing. He takes the horde down with two quick stabs and checks over his shoulder for Catra. Across the clearing, Lonnie fights back to back with the white-haired woman, but their strikes are slowing. Lonnie falls to one knee under a horde’s blow, fighting to get back to her feet. Entrapta is nowhere in sight.

Nexto to her, Kyle wipes blood from his face. “Catra, you have to be more careful,” he chastises.

“I’m— ‘m fine,” she wheezes, pressing a hand to her aching ribs. Her ears ring and she tries not to think about what just happened — Kyle, purposefully putting himself in danger for her. Risking himself, for Catra.

Exactly what she never wanted to happen.

🛡️

“You’re really gonna go for that?” Lonnie raises an eyebrow, looking at the course spread out below them. A rope hangs in front of the platform where they stand, twenty feet off the ground. Sand piled beneath the weighted ropes is designed to catch any falls, but the net that usually stretches above it is gone.

“I can do it,” Catra responds. She hops from foot to foot, gauging the jump.

“It’s for seniors only,” Lonnie protests.

Catra knows Lonnie’s right, but there’s something exhilarating about going against Shadow Weaver’s explicit demands. Today had been rough— Catra had screwed up another group training session, meaning extra work for all of them. It didn’t matter that Catra’s plan had been good— better than any the other middle or even high schoolers had crafted— Shadow Weaver had picked it apart in front of the others and challenged every step, belittling her when everyone knew Catra was the best.

 _A leader knows when to listen to others,_ she had hissed, selecting an inferior plan to Catra’s.

It shouldn’t have mattered, really, but Shadow Weaver’s stupid little one-liners were always getting stuck in Catra’s head, driving her to do stupid, reckless things in an attempt to prove herself.

_Create change for the better, or create nothing at all._

“You really shouldn’t do this,” Lonnie mutters. Now, her voice is filled with worry instead of nonchalance.

“Don’t worry,” Catra tosses back, casual.

_You are worth only what you can give to others._

“I’ve got this.”

🛡️

She’s been trying not to take Shadow Weaver’s words to heart. She has, really, and Scorpia’s been helpful, always wildly positive and encouraging. She believes in Catra, and her steady faith lights a quiet warmth in Catra’s chest, something she appreciates more than she would ever let on.

But...honestly? Catra’s been feeling worthless lately. The kind of worthlessness she’d hoped she left in her past, the kind she thought she’d never feel again. After all, this is the zombie apocalypse — every life is worth something, right? But, as with most things, even the apocalypse can steady down into monotony.

Catra feels useless. She feels like, perhaps, the way she could best help these women — to keep them from the eternal separation of death, a prospect which sends an unexpectedly bright pain through Catra’s heart — is through her own sacrifice. 

_You’re no good alive,_ Shadow Weaver says. 

“I know,” Catra says, outloud, to no one. To herself, maybe, confirming what she’s known for so long.

She doesn’t really know why she does it, in the end. Shadow Weaver’s endless mantra about her worthlessness, maybe, or perhaps she just wants the couple to be okay, or it could just be that Catra wants to do something good — something selfless.

Whatever the reason is, Catra slips past the main horde, and starts shouting. The others are close to the patrol vehicle now, close enough that Lonnie has started the engine, but the hordes are too close, too many.

It’s just random words at first, screams, but her cries get lost in the pandemonium of the fight. She changes her tone. 

“Hey, you braindead fucks!”

The horde’s assault on the vehicle stops temporarily, and dozens of undead heads turn slowly in her direction. Whatever they are now, they still recognize a challenge when they hear one.

“Yeah, you! Over here!” 

“Catra! What are you doing?!” It’s another voice, now, one she doesn’t recognize right away, reprimanding her in a voice filled with abject terror. 

Catra ignores the voice, electing to jump up and down and wave her arms. The zombies are pulling away from her friends now, slowly turning their attention to the newest challenge. “There’s just one of me! I’ll be easy to kill, or are you too _scared?_ ” 

“Catra! Stop! You can’t fight them alone! You’re going to die!” The voice drops at the end, the realization stroking: Catra already knows. 

The zombie that must be the horde prime of the group starts lurching in her direction, and the others start to follow, leaving the vehicle and its inhabitants behind. 

Tears stream down her face as she continues. “So why don’t you come over here and _do it?!_ ” 

“ _Catra!”_

“Turn Emily on,” demands another voice from the vehicle, most likely Entrapta — always so level headed when they need it. “She’s giving us a chance to escape. Let’s take it.”

“Listen to her!” Catra demands from a distance, tears blocking the vision of the incoming Horde that she knows is mere seconds from reaching her. “Drive! Drive, dammit, _drive!”_

There, in the clearing in the woods, far away from any home she’s ever had, Catra feels a breath of relief. Luring the hordes away from the women and her friends, just trying to do one good thing in her life — for the couple, for the team, and maybe a little bit for herself, she almost wonders if she’s trying to prove that she’s willing to do what needs to be done.

For a moment, the relief is all she needs. They’ll be okay.

And then they’re on her, and Catra is alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh oh. let us know what u thought :) - xandrillia


	9. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the comments!!! we genuinely love hearing what y'all have to say and the lil 'comment on welcome to the fright zone' emails give me LIFE. anyway have funnn we left our girl off in uhh a rough spot yesterday - xandrillia

“Adora.” 

_“Adora.”_

Adora wakes with a start, angry already. She’d hoped that having a group would mean she would sleep more, because other people could be on watch during the day. So far, that hasn’t been true. 

She groans, touching her temple. “What is it?” 

“There’s something happening over there.” It’s Perfuma who woke her, shivering already. Bow and Glimmer sleep soundly nearby in each other’s arms. Adora notes quietly that they didn’t fall asleep that way. 

“What? What do you mean?” Adora sits up, looking around. They’ve expanded their treetop base, and none of her new friends have made fun of her for calling the tree Light Hope yet.

No, not friends, she corrects herself internally. Teammates. Nothing more. 

Perfuma points a quivering arm to the south. Adora sees it now - a small group of zombies all dashing in the same direction. By now, they’ve discovered that the zombies communicate through some sort of hive mind, meaning wherever they’re going, they’re following the call of another. 

“Should we follow?” Adora asks, already knowing Perfuma’s answer. She’s too good hearted. 

“Yes. Maybe we can save them. Whoever they’re converging on.” Perfuma’s already handing Adora her sword, gesturing her towards the ladder. Adora has tried to get her to accept a weapon - her old bat, for example, or even some rocks - but Perfuma always turns them down. 

Adora shakes Bow and Glimmer gently. “Guys. Guys. We’re gonna go check something out.” 

“Mmmf….wha?” Bow mumbles, eyes still closed. He pulls Glimmer closer to him, who snores. “Go check...wha out?” 

“Zombies. They’re chasing someone.” 

“Hnnnng. Okay, fine.” Bow opens his eyes and sees Glimmer next to him. Embarrassed, he sits up quickly, stretching nonchalantly as she, too, wakes up. 

“Man, I slept well,” she comments, rubbing her eyes. “What’re we doing?” 

“Just seeing if we can help someone,” Adora says, already climbing out of the tree. “Zombies are chasing someone nearby.” 

“Hurry, guys,” Perfuma says urgently. “I don’t want it to be too late.” 

The team yawns and grabs their weapons, following Perfuma through the woods. 

It’s not the first time Perfuma has made them chase after a group of hordes in search of survivors. Most of the time, if the hordes are converging on someone, it’s already too late. They try, anyway. No luck so far. So it goes. 

As they near the gathering of zombies near the edge of the woods, the sound of an engine revving and peeling out fills the air. The group slows to a walk. 

“Oh,” Perfuma says quietly. 

“They escaped, then,” Glimmer says matter-of-factly. “Let’s get back.” 

“Wait. Look.” Bow points. “They’re still fighting.” 

Adora squints, looking at the hordes. He’s right. They’re converging on something, no, some _one_ , someone the car decided to leave behind, for one reason or another. She can’t tell who it is, but they’re fighting like everything is on the line, and Adora knows it is.

“Let’s get some high ground,” Adora says instinctively, and the group nods. They each divert to a nearby tree and scramble up - days of living in the woods have made this action second-nature. 

From her spot in the air, Adora can see a little clearer. 

It’s a girl. She’s in red, possibly, or covered in blood. She has wild brown hair, and she’s fighting back with knives - knives? An interesting choice. She spins and slices with efficiency — _fast_ , Adora notes — but there are too many.

For a brief second, Adora catches a glimpse of her eyes.

Wild, wide, terrified. Blue and yellow.

_Oh._

Glimmer notices at the same instance as Adora. “Is that…?” 

“Yeah,” Adora whispers. “I think it is.” 

“What do we do?” Bow asks. 

“Yeah, Adora. It’s up to you.” 

_It’s up to you._

It’s up to her. It’s always up to her. 

She remembers the plane, her wallet, the betrayal. Losing the last physical memory she had of her sister, tucked inside her wallet and presumably gone forever due to Catra’s actions. She huffs in annoyance. Catra doesn’t deserve their help. She doesn’t deserve _anyone’s_ help. 

However, as much pain as this girl has caused her, and as much as she has taken, Adora was never taught to leave someone in need. 

Yeah, Catra doesn’t deserve her help, but that doesn’t mean Adora isn’t going to offer it. 

Adora curses herself for being this forgiving. 

The plan comes to her without second thought. “Bow, Glimmer, you draw the group back here — split them in two. Perfuma, find a spear, a stick, anything. Stay wide of the main fighting and let us know if there are too many closing in. Minimize our enemies.” Her teammates — _friends,_ the voice in her head whispers — nod and grip their weapons.

“I’m gonna save the cat.”

Together, like they’ve been working together for years instead of days, they drop from their positions, and the fight begins.

Adora lands on a horde’s shoulders, blade pointed downward beneath her feet. The zombie falls quickly and she yanks the sword from its place without hesitation, slipping through the undead, fighting toward Catra. She leaves the majority of the zombies she crosses alone, knowing Bow will get them from his position above and Glimmer will draw them away.

Right now, Adora is on defense.

The sword, once too heavy and uncomfortably long, now fits her perfectly. It’s almost like an extension of her arm, slicing through her countless targets without wavering once. Her heart hammers in her chest, but she feels no fear, only cold determination. Another five, six, seven steps, and she’s at Catra’s side.

A blade comes whistling up toward Adora’s face but she sidesteps and blocks, deflecting it with her own sword. Catra clearly hadn’t expected such a deft move from a zombie and pauses for a moment, thrown by the technique. 

She stares at Adora for a moment, distracted. “...hey,” is all she manages to say. 

“Hey yourself,” Adora mutters back, turning and throwing her elbow into a zombie’s nose, sending it stumbling back toward Catra. She dispatches it on reflex, but Adora can tell the situation hasn’t quite caught up with her yet. They have a brief moment of reprieve before the next wave — Bow and Glimmer are doing their jobs well.

“Wait... _princess_?” Catra says it like a question. She holds another knife out in front of her defensively, apparently ready to skewer Adora if she steps closer. “What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like? I’m saving your sorry ass,” Adora responds, wiping sweat from her eyes.

Catra squints. “Don’t need saving.” 

As a response, Adora slings her sword over Catra’s shoulder. It skewers into the skull of the horde that had been approaching her from behind, staggering backwards for a moment before collapsing. It’s not exactly a weapon made for throwing, but Adora makes it work.

Catra turns around slowly, watching the creature’s corpse hit the ground. 

She silently dislodges the sword from its head and hands it to Adora, face still painted with disbelief. “Um...be careful.” 

Adora scoffs, taking her weapon. “Always am.” 

They fight the way old friends hold a conversation — like they’ve known each other for years, anticipating the slightest shift and knowing the other’s intentions exactly. They watch each other's back, no words needed to warn or protect the other.

Their techniques vary; that much is clear. Adora fights with heavy, clean hits and harsh movements, each strike crafted with one specific target in mind. She never misses, her sword cutting straight, even lines through the hordes in front of them.

Opposite her, Catra moves fluidly, her knives spinning out of her hands and curving into the hordes, only for her to snatch them up again a moment later. She ducks and spins where Adora jabs and hacks, and together, the tide turns quickly. Without speaking, they understand exactly when to duck or deflect a fist meant for the other, matched perfectly to the other’s rhythm.

It’s over almost as soon as it began. Adora pushes her hair out of her face, panting. Her arms are already turning to rubber from the effort, and she rests her sword’s point on the soaked earth, scanning the clearing and the woods beyond.

Bow rises from the ground, where he’d knelt and fired arrow after arrow at the hordes. Glimmer waves her hand through the smoke surrounding her, coughing. Perfuma flutters her fingers in greeting at the edge of the clearing. She pockets acorns from the ground, humming to herself and seemingly oblivious to the mass fight she’d just been a part of. The spear she’d picked up earlier lays a few yards away, unused. 

Adora turns to Catra. “You good?” she asks, genuinely concerned. 

Catra doesn’t respond for a moment. She looks at Adora with an open expression, like she’s never seen her before. In a way, she hasn’t. Or, at least, she hasn’t seen her like this. 

Finally, she nods. Her expression shifts, becoming guarded, and she clears her throat. “I’m good. You?” Adora nods, and Catra places her hand over her ribs, wincing. She must have taken a hit, or could just be sore from the fight.

“Adora!” Bow raises a hand, eyeing Catra with distrust. He’d told Adora how Catra’s team had stolen his and Glimmer’s supplies weeks before, but Adora is beginning to wonder if the theft had been on purpose or just another recon mission gone wrong. She shakes herself out of her thoughts, turning back to him.

“We’re good!” she calls, waving him off. He hesitates only a moment before turning to Glimmer.

Adora scuffs the ground with her boot, suddenly unsure of herself. She’d never doubted Catra once during the fight, but now she doesn’t know what to say, the grace from the battle leaving her all at once.

“Um…” she trails off. “Do you — do you need a ride back to the mall?”

Catra tilts her head, considering her. “I—” Her gaze focuses on something over Adora’s shoulder. She springs forward suddenly, pushing roughly past Adora. “Look out!”

Across the field, Perfuma has her back to an approaching zombie. At Catra’s shout she turns, and, much to the surprise of everyone watching, delivers the cleanest left hook Adora’s ever seen.

“Huh,” Adora mutters in approval as the zombie falls to the ground. And then: “Huh?” because zombies don’t go down in one hit like that, especially when it’s Perfuma doing the punching. So, who did she just hit?

Perfuma screams, and Adora and Catra go sprinting towards her, weapons drawn. 

When they reach her, she’s crying. “No! No! I didn’t mean to!” She sobs, kneeling down next to the figure. 

“It’s fine, flowers,” Catra grumbles. “We just killed dozens of these guys, it’s not a big deal—” 

“B-but, it’s not a zombie!” Perfuma cries.

Adora reaches out haltingly, unsure of what Perfuma means. The figure is coated in blood and green veins decorate their skin — clear signs of infection. Still, there’s no denying that the zombie is unconscious, which shouldn’t be possible from one hit, or, at all. Adora feels a newfound bubble of respect rise in her chest for her teammate — she didn’t know Perfuma had that kind of fight in her.

Behind Adora, Catra rolls her eyes. She reaches over Adora and shakes the person’s shoulder roughly.

“Catra!” Adora pushes her arm away, but the person is already stirring. They wheeze and prop themself up on one elbow, squinting at the small group surrounding them. Seeing Catra, they raise an eyebrow and rub their shoulder. 

“Never one for niceties, huh, kitten?”

Catra scowls. “Kit—?!”

“Are you okay?” Bow cuts in, leaning over them. They wave Bow off and sit up the rest of the way, testing their jaw.

“Fine, no thanks to our darling here.” They nod at Perfuma and accept Bow’s hand to stand. “It _is_ nice to know my disguise works. Could have been worse. Might have ended up like one of our friends in the clearing if I’d come a little earlier. Acting is difficult work, people.” Adora grimaces as she checks over her shoulder. Already the area stinks of rotted flesh and spilled blood, and she wrinkles her nose at the sight.

“We have to go,” Adora says, using her sword to rise unsteadily. She turns to Catra. “We can drop you off at the mall, but after that we’re gone. And—” she looks at the newcomer, hesitating. “Where’s your base?”

They roll their eyes. “The name’s Double Trouble, darling,” Adora winces. She’d prefer not to get to know anyone she’s not planning on sticking with — too many people, too many reliances. “And I’m a bit of a wanderer.”

“Load of good that did you,” Catra mutters.

“You wanna come with us?” Adora says, watching Double Trouble smudge the green lines on their arms with their thumb. 

They shrug. “If you insist.” 

Adora nods. “So. _You._ ” She turns to Catra, borderline accusatory. “You should come with us too. You’re alone out here. We have a car. We have supplies. We can help you get back.” 

Catra just glares at her. 

“Do you want help or not?” She swings her sword, resting it over her shoulder. 

Catra’s eyes flash in defiance. “I can take care of myself.” 

“What? So you’re just gonna leave, go get yourself outnumbered again?” Adora steps forward, grabs Catra by the elbow. “I don’t think so.” 

Catra pulls back, scowling. “Just drop me off at the edge of the city and I’ll find my own way back.”

Adora runs her bloody fingers through her hair, exasperated. “We risked our _lives_ for you! Why are you acting like this?”

“I didn’t need—” Catra hisses, but breaks off unexpectedly. She frowns, looking down, and when she speaks again, her voice is quieter. “I appreciate it. I do. I just—” she sighs, and Adora recognizes the weariness in her eyes. She sees it every time she looks in the mirror. “I didn’t want people to get hurt because of me.”

Adora’s gaze softens. “I know. But we’re here to help and...we can get you home, at least.”

Catra sighs quietly. She sheathes the last of her knives. “Okay.”

🗡️

The truck doesn’t seat many. Adora and Catra volunteer themselves to sit in the trunk, however dangerous, and the rest pack into the cab. As they bump through the woods and eventually over rubble in the city streets, their eyes remain alert for approaching threats. 

“It’s quiet,” Adora muses, uncomfortable with the silence. “Must be the light reflecting off the glass — it’s a lot brighter here than at home. Safer.”

Catra nods, following her line of thought. The hordes _had_ been more active in the Whispering Woods - maybe one of the reasons her team had let themselves get surrounded so easily. Here, the streets are bare. Bow knows the way to the mall, and they ride in silence but for the hum of the engine. The sun beats down relentlessly, the clear sky contrasting the passengers’ gloomy mood.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Catra blurts suddenly. 

Adora turns to her, concerned. “I mean...sure.” 

“You didn’t...I mean, you haven’t been to Mystacor before...have you?” Catra raises an eyebrow. 

Adora sighs. The tone in which she asked the question tells her that Catra already knows. She doesn’t bother to answer, instead turning her head to watch the grass. 

Catra presses on. “Uninvited, perhaps? Maybe to grab a few supplies?” 

Adora says nothing. 

“Because...um, because...if you did...that’s…” Catra shuts her eyes. Why is this so hard? “It’s fine. I mean, what you did back there for me, that was incredible. So, yeah. It’s fine. I mean, you beating my score in Beast Island _isn’t_ fine, but I’ll get over it.” She pauses. “Eventually.” 

Adora suppresses a smile. “It was nothing personal.” 

Catra laughs. “Sure, princess.” 

_Princess._

“Wait, now I’m gonna ask _you_ something.” She swivels her body, facing Catra completely. “What’s with the posters?” 

Catra plays dumb. “What posters?” 

“Oh, don’t you dare pretend you don’t know—” 

“Coming up on the barricade,” Bow calls through the rear window. “Catra, maybe let them see you? I don’t want them to think we’re trying to break in or something.” 

Catra nods, grateful that their conversation was interrupted, and stands against the cab of the truck, shading the sun from her eyes with one hand. She holds up the other in a wave, but no one responds from the patrol station.

“All empty,” she calls to Adora. She frowns. Mystacor patrol is ruthless, and they both know it. 

Rolling to a stop outside the barricade, Bow lets the truck idle. Catra jumps out, but the others stay put. 

Catra walks a few feet before turning back. “Aren’t you coming in?” she asks, embarrassed but looking for any way to repay them. 

Glimmer and Bow share a look. “We’ve kind of raided you guys before, unless you’ve forgotten,” she half-jokes.

Catra closes her eyes. “Don’t make me beg. Come on. Come inside. I mean it. Let me treat you to dinner or something.” 

Adora shakes her head, waves a hand. “No, really. We’re fine — we’ll go back to base.”

“Adora, c’mon.” Catra holds out a hand, smiling sideways with exasperation and relief. “Stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> officially halfway done!! Also if u caught my kurt vonnegut reference ur my best friend -anyonesaunt  
> (not to brag but i got the reference hehe - xandrillia)


	10. Roll With It

After the thank-you dinner, Adora is beginning to wonder if they’ll ever be asked to leave Mystacor. 

They just fit in so well. Perfuma and Scorpia immediately hit it off, spending the whole dinner talking to each other and no one else, while Double Trouble seems to be friends with everyone, all sharp humor and biting one-liners. And although Glimmer and Bow keep to themselves for a while, eventually they branch out.

“So it was _you_ who started the fire!” proclaims Bow excitedly when talking to Sea Hawk, who’s more than happy to tell him dozens of other stories regarding his mishaps with flame. Mermista groans, having heard these stories a hundred times before, but listens regardless. 

Glimmer, meanwhile, gets to know Netossa and Spinnerella, the wives who Catra had sacrificed herself to save. 

“Isn’t she the best?” gushes Spinnerella. “Abandoning herself to save us. And she didn’t even _know_ us. And you...saving her from the zombies afterwards! So selfless!” 

Glimmer blushes and shrugs, trying to appear modest. “Yeah, I guess it was pretty brave, wasn’t it? Hey, do you wanna see my smoke bombs?” 

At Kyle and Catra’s side of the table, the conversation is nothing but apologies. 

“We didn’t want to leave you,” explains Kyle nervously. “Really. We really didn’t. We would have come back if we had known…” 

“I know,” Catra mumbles. 

“I wanted to turn around. I kept saying, ‘guys, let’s turn around,’ but they wouldn’t listen. Really.” 

“I know.” She picks at her food. 

“It wasn’t my idea—”

“Stop. Stop it, Kyle.” She throws down her fork, facing him. “You have nothing to apologize for. I _wanted_ you to abandon me. It had to be done. I’m just grateful that Entrapta convinced you to drive away. She’s the real hero.”

Entrapta’s too busy talking to Double Trouble to notice. 

“You’ve found out how to disguise as a zombie?!” She shouts in their face. “I’ve been trying to find a way to do that for _weeks!”_

“Why, yes. It’s all in the body language, sweetheart. Oh, and, of course, confidence.” 

Adora watches everyone talk from the sidelines, nervous and unsure of what to say. She hasn’t been at a dinner like this in, well, forever. It’s scary how _normal_ it feels. Sure, there’s a zombie apocalypse raging outside, but now, it’s almost like before. 

“So.” A deep voice drawls in her left ear, and she turns quickly. It’s the girl that Catra introduced as Lonnie, and she’s looking at Adora with her chin in her hands, her eyes glinting mischievously. “You’re She-Ra. The Princess of Power.” 

Adora coughs. “I mean...to _some_ people I’m She-Ra, I guess, but, my name’s actually Adora.” 

Lonnie acts like she doesn’t hear her. “You’re some kind of celebrity around here, you know.” 

Adora looks around the room. They’re in the food court area, dozens of tables pushed together, and there’s a She-Ra poster on every wall. “Yeah, I gathered,” she says humorlessly. 

Lonnie leans in. “It was Catra’s idea. Said you’d make a good mascot.” 

Adora squints. “Really?” 

Lonnie grins. “Really.” 

“Why would she—” 

“It was weird,” continues Lonnie. “She’s never kept anyone’s stolen wallet before. Always gets rid of the evidence and keeps nothing but the cash and credit cards. But you…” she leans back in her seat, crosses her arms. “She kept yours.” 

Adora shrugs. “I guess...I guess she forgot.”

“Sure.” Lonnie takes a bite of her food, still smiling. “She must’ve just forgot.” 

🗡️🛡️

Weeks later, Adora’s 100% certain they’re here to stay. 

It’s unspoken. Catra tells them in her own way. 

First, Catra gives Adora and her crew their own rooms to stay in. She scrounges up cots and blankets and pillows, telling them not to thank her. Adora notes that it’s right next to the Fright Zone and Catra’s own room, but she doesn’t comment on it. 

Then, Catra gives them jobs, incorporating them to the Mystacor team. She gives Bow and Glimmer patrol shifts together, and she assigns Perfuma to the rooftop garden. In just days, their crop output is improving drastically.

Finally, Catra orders Entrapta to go to the Whispering Woods and re-gather all of Adora’s abandoned supplies. She has them brought back to Mystacor and dropped off in her room. When Adora finds them, she’s shocked for a moment, recognizing her suitcase and their other forgotten items, before going to find Perfuma. 

“Hey,” she calls to her, drawing her away from the vegetable plots. “I just wanted you to know that Catra had our supplies dropped off here. So, those flower seeds you’d been saving are back. They’re in my room.” 

Perfuma squeals and grabs her hands. “Ooh! This is so exciting! I have to go tell Scorpia!” 

Adora’s confused, not expecting this big of a reaction. “Tell her what?”

“That we’re staying for good,” Perfuma says simply, and she runs past her, skirt flowing in the wind. 

Adora stands there on the roof for a moment. Catra would never say it, but Perfuma is right. 

🗡️🛡️

Adora’s lying in her cot on what must be her third week at Mystacor when a figure clouds the door. She expects it to be Bow or Glimmer, returning from dinner, but, instead...

“Hey, Adora.” 

Adora looks up. “Catra?” 

She’s standing with one foot crossed over the other, one hand rubbing her arm comfortingly. So, she’s nervous. About what?

Adora pushes herself to her feet. “What is it?” 

“Oh, nothing...it’s just…” Catra looks at the ceiling. “Mermista and Sea Hawk were supposed to do the morning patrol shift. But, well, they had had a really tough night. They were the ones who volunteered to take care of that group of hordes to the north of the mall, and it took a lot out of them. So. I, um, I said I’d take their patrol shift.” 

Adora nods. “Cool.” She lies back down. 

Catra continues. “And I...I was just wondering…I mean, you don’t _have_ to...” 

By now, Adora has figured out what Catra’s trying to ask. That doesn’t mean she’s gonna make it easy on her, though. 

“What? What is it, Catra?” she says innocently. 

“It’s a lot to ask, I know...morning shifts are terrible. Like, with sleeping during the day and all, you’re probably getting ready for bed right now, in fact…” 

“Get on with it.” 

Catra huffs. “I just...don’t wanna go alone.” 

Adora rises from the bed with a grunt. “I’ll go with you, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

Catra sighs with relief. “Thanks. I owe you one.” 

“You owe me, like, a thousand.” 

Day shifts are often uneventful, and this one is no different. They take another one of Entrapta’s cars, affectionately dubbed “Darla,” and they patrol the northern side of the city together. Most zombies they see are disoriented from the sunlight and lost from the rest of the hordes, so a simple jab with a sword or knife is all it takes to end them.

“I never really understood why you put your base in the woods,” comments Catra as they cruise through the streets. “With all the shade, there are more zombies there during the daytime. It just makes sense to have it in the city.” 

“Yeah. I noticed,” Adora responds. “It wasn’t too bad, though. Our base was in the trees, and they couldn’t climb. But it wasn’t completely my idea.” 

Catra lifts an eyebrow. 

“I was watching the news, right before it happened,” Adora explains. “The city was abandoned, and I was on the outskirts, and I walked into this bar. And the TV was telling people to leave urban areas so…” she shrugs. “I did. Was running out of supplies, though, near the end, what with Bow, Glimmer, and Perfuma turning up. Lotta people to feed.” 

“Glad I got you out of there,” Catra says, immediately regretting it.

“Oh?” Adora smiles, and Catra stares at the road. 

“I just don’t want you to die, that’s all.” 

Adora turns her head, gazing out the window. “Thanks. I don’t want you to die, either.” 

“Sorry I stole your wallet.” 

Adora laughs. 

“What? I _am_ sorry.” 

“Too little, too late, I’m afraid.” 

“Who’s the girl?” 

Adora feels the color drain from her face. “What girl?” 

“The girl from the picture. In your wallet. The doctor girl.” 

_Tell her._

“She’s...she’s my sister.” 

“Oh.” 

“Mara.” 

“Oh.” Catra doesn’t ask anything else, and Adora is grateful for that. 

“Changing the subject…” Adora says carefully. “Why’d you keep it? The wallet, I mean. Lonnie told me that you don’t normally…” 

Catra clenches the wheel. “ _Lonnie._ Don’t listen to her.” 

“What? What do you think she said?” Adora stares at Catra’s side profile, watching her crumble. 

Catra glances at her. “Nothing. Just don’t listen to Lonnie, that’s all.” She thinks for a moment, eyebrows furrowed, before adding: “It’s not because I like you.” 

“No, no, I know,” Adora says quickly. “I was just wondering.” 

There’s silence for a moment. Adora fidgets in her seat, then decides to break it. “Thanks for having our stuff sent over from the woods. That was nice of you.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

“Does that mean...I mean, it _probably_ means it, but I just want to make sure...we can stay?” 

“What’re you talking about?” 

“At Mystacor. We can stay. Bow, Glimmer, Perfuma and I.” She swallows. “You know. For good.”

Catra sighs. “You’re an idiot, Adora.” 

“What?! What did I say?!” 

“Of course you can stay.” She chances a look at her, her face softens. “I—er, we need you.” She clears her throat. “Well, we need Perfuma, mostly. The gardens have never looked better.” 

Adora smiles. “Yep. Perfuma’s great.” 

“Glimmer and Bow...we need them, too. Never seen someone so good with a crossbow. And Glimmer’s flash bombs, I mean, damn. When she’s on your side, those things are _great._ ” 

“And me?” Adora leans forward, bashing her eyelashes. 

Catra hums pensively, pretending to think. “Now that I think of it, we don’t really need you. We need your _other_ friends, though, and I’ve gotten the sense that you’re a package deal.” 

Adora nods solemnly. “We are. I guess you’re stuck with me.” 

Catra sighs dramatically, and Adora laughs, adding: “Wasn’t my idea, if you’ll remember.” 

“Huh?” 

“‘If the apocalypse starts, come find me,’” Adora quotes. “You said it, not me.” 

Catra hides a smile, remembering. “You’re right.” 

“Get used to it,” Adora says, sitting back. “I always am.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i missed it buT a month ago yesterday a texted me and said it was high time we wrote a catradora fic together...look at us now :,) but seriously, writing this was the most fun i’ve had in so long and i’m so glad y’all like it <3 - xandrillia


	11. Pulse

Adora runs her hands over the assorted weapons, hefting a few blades before carefully putting them back in their places. She’s been practicing more with her sword lately, but she worries she’s getting too dependent on it. Settling on a six-inch blade with a leather grip, Adora tries to spin it over her fingers like she’s seen Catra do so many times, but gasps when it clatters to the ground near her foot. The sound echoes loudly throughout the empty room.

“Careful,” a voice drawls from the entrance. Adora places the knife carefully back on the rack, a blush creeping up her neck. Footsteps come close, stopping next to her. It’s Catra, and Adora isn’t surprised. She looks like she just woke up, her hair in a loose ponytail and wearing what looks to be pajama shorts, which is pretty risky considering one scrape can get you killed in their current lives. Adora looks back to the knives.

“What are you doing?” Catra asks, frowning at the weapons.

Adora shrugs. “Figured I should know how to use more than just the sword, y’know? As backup.”

“Good idea.” Then: “How’s your combat training?”

Adora blanches. “My what?”

“Hand-to-hand combat?” Catra raises an eyebrow, smirking. “You’ve never fought without a weapon?

“Not all of us grew up child soldiers,” Adora responds. Catra’s home life has become more and more familiar to Adora, although it still completely baffles her all the same. 

Catra looks at her feet. “I know.” 

Adora is immediately embarrassed. She’s never dared to bring it up like that. “I took a couple years of classes with my sister when I was little,” she offers quickly, trying to move on. She doesn’t mention that she was kicked out of her gym for violating the rules of inner calm and self defense, picking fights with bullies after school in the years after Mara’s death. 

Catra lifts an eyebrow. “And how much of that do you remember?”

Adora doesn’t respond.

“Okay, princess,” she says, grinning. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” With that, she turns, leading Adora through the mall to a room she hasn’t seen before. 

It’s a gym, maybe, but most of the supplies — mainly stationary bikes — have been shoved to the side, the open floor now dotted with punching bags. Boxes filled with gear sit on a table to the side, and Catra rummages through one filled with light leather gloves.

Catra picks up a pair and offers them to Adora. “Here — these’ll protect your hands. Don’t want to break anything if we can avoid it.” 

Adora pulls the gloves on, nervously watching Catra push a punching bag out of the way against the wall. She hasn’t fought anyone that wasn’t a zombie in years, and she’s not sure she wants her first fight to be with Catra of all people — she’s seen what the other woman is capable of, and doesn’t want to be on the opposing side. She pulls off her jacket and drapes it over a side table, lucky she wore a tank top. When she turns back, Catra’s eyes are on the lights over Adora’s head.

Catra steps into the middle of the room, where a circle has been outlined in tape, bouncing back and forth. Adora comes to stand across from her, still hesitant.

“Relax,” Catra says, winking. “I promise I won’t hit too hard.”

With that, they begin.

Catra’s first punch is ridiculously easy. Adora knows that she basically told Catra she doesn’t know how to fight (which is a total lie), but she can’t help the flicker of insult in her chest. They’ve been fighting together for weeks now, and sure, zombies are different than real people, but does Catra really think she’s _that_ slow?

Still, Adora doesn’t say anything, just matches her pace for pace, blocking her quickening attacks and eventually shifting to offense herself.

“You know, when you said you wouldn’t hit too hard—” Adora ducks and catches Catra’s wrist, but she twists out of her grip before Adora can complete the move — “I didn’t realize it was because you couldn’t hit me at all.” Adora grins, taunting, and Catra rolls her eyes. They each step back, taking a moment to breathe.

“Okay, princess, let’s set this up for real then, yeah?” Catra tightens her ponytail. “Despite whatever bullshit you were spilling earlier about—" she holds up a hand at Adora’s protest— “despite whatever that was, you’ve clearly got a good arm on you. So,” she huffs out a breath, scrunching up her nose. Already they’re sweating, and Adora passes a hand over her face. She puts a hand on her hip, not bothering to hide the grin spreading across her face.

Catra thinks for a moment. “Ten points—"

“Points, Catra? Really?” Adora asks. 

Catra huffs. “ _Fine,_ pin or knockout to ten count, full contact, unlimited time?”

Adora nods. “How many matches?”

Catra pauses. “Three?”

“You are _so_ boring.”

“Fine, princess, think you can handle seven?”

Adora grins at the sudden increase. At her old studio, she and her friends would go seven to nine matches at a time, four people sparring at once. It wasn’t legal in any way, but it was fun and got them the stamina they needed, which Adora hopes will win her the competition.

“You’re on.”

The first match goes quick. They’re testing each other out, looking for patterns and weak spots. Catra gets a foot behind Adora’s knee ten seconds in and she’s down fast, a little shocked at just _how_ quick Catra is. Adora taps out, knowing when she’s beat, and gets to her feet. She’s rusty, for sure, but she can come back from this.

So. It’s time to think this through. Adora swings her arms, stalling for time as she focuses. Catra favors offense, although she’s demonstrated good defensive maneuvers on past missions, sometimes drawing hordes in only to take them out once they’re within range. Catra is shorter than Adora, meaning she’ll stay near, using Adora’s height against her to make her kicks useless. Any close fighting is an advantage to Catra, where a longer reach would be a help to Adora.

Step one: keep her distance.

Next — Catra is fast, and light on her feet. Adora fights with a stronger base and she’s able to hold her ground better, another reason Adora is better with defense. However, Catra is built like a sprinter, dancing around her opponents and throwing their balance. It’s a good strategy, but Adora doubts Catra can keep up her speed for very long.

Step two: drag out the match.

They take their places at the center of the circle again, Adora rolling her wrists. She’ll need tape soon, but for now she’s okay.

“What?” Catra asks, and Adora realizes she’s been staring. She looks down, suddenly interested in her own hands.

“Nothing.” She adjusts the gloves. “Ready?” Catra nods, and Adora steps forward.

This time, she takes offense. Catra is immediately thrown by the shift, as she had taken the initiative last match, but Adora planned on her confusion and uses it against her. Catra blocks two strikes, lightning quick, but she’s still in offensive mode, trying to move too much. Adora sends a high right roundhouse her way, cushioning the blow at the last second, but it still has its intended effect. Catra loses her balance and shifts to the left, trying to get her feet steady underneath her. She abandons blocking Adora’s punch, thinking Adora would still be getting her balance back from the kick, which is why Adora threw her next punch _before_ her foot hit the ground.

Adora catches her in the stomach — _whoops,_ Adora thinks, wincing — and Catra stumbles backward with a quick exhale, her breath driven out of her. Adora pauses, thinking she went too far. Catra said full contact, sure, but that was a dirty move.

“Sor—" her apology is cut off in an embarrassing squeak as she ducks a hit, Catra coming back much stronger and faster than she had expected. Adora spins over her shoulder and puts her back against Catra, throwing an elbow behind her, which misses.

Catra catches her elbow and presses her palm into her opposite shoulder blade, sending her pitching off balance — not a good move on Adora’s part. Offense is unfamiliar territory for her, meaning she hasn’t quite gotten a hold on her balance yet.

Catra laughs, still holding Adora’s arm, but Adora huffs and stumbles forward, nudging Catra’s foot out of place with her own. Her laugh turns to a shout as she’s dragged down with Adora, but even as Adora catches herself with her free arm and rolls to her back, Catra uses her momentum to pin Adora and grab her hand. They both pause for a moment, stunned at the match’s unexpected end.

Adora laughs quietly, her breath stunted. “Fine,” she mumbles.

Catra rolls off of her quickly, kicking to her feet. Adora stays flat on her back for a moment, blinking at the ceiling before she sits up, the sudden absence of Catra’s weight from her chest a surprise. She clambers to her feet, knowing she was closer that round — she just needs to create more time, wait for the opening she knows is coming.

“Two to zero,” Catra sings, shrugging her shoulders and bouncing on the balls of her feet. She’s all loose energy and excitement, and Adora rolls her eyes at her vivacity, hoping it won’t last long so she can finally win something. Catra’s eyes are bright and Adora is sure she looks the same, just having _fun_ for the first time in so long. “You ready for it to be three to zero?” 

Adora doesn’t respond. She takes her place again, shaking her arms loose and crouching slightly. Catra knows what she’s planning now, so it’s time to switch it up.

Unfortunately, Catra is looking for a change of pace as well. When Adora calls the beginning of the match, they both stand still for a moment, tense and ready to move, but neither takes the lead.

“You still here, princess?”

Adora responds with a feint, lunging to the right before ducking left under Catra’s guard. Catra spins away, putting distance between them to avoid the hit — perfect. Catra throws two quick punches, but Adora shifts back, leaning slightly out of her range, and Catra overbalances. She’s making the same mistake as before — not adjusting her stance to fit her altered fighting technique.

Adora leans back again, but when Catra’s next hit comes, she ducks, grabbing her forearm from below and shoving her own shoulder into Catra’s torso, using her weight to push her over. They hit the ground hard, both groaning. Adora can’t help but feel a little guilty — Catra was a lot lighter than she’d expected. She wouldn’t have hit so hard if she’d realized, and the thought gives her an idea.

“You really don’t pull your punches, do you?” Catra groans. Her hips press into Adora’s stomach as she shifts, trying to get up.

Adora laughs. “I didn’t think it would work,” she admits, placing her hands on either side of Catra and pushing herself to her feet. Catra takes her hand and they stand eye to eye for a moment, neither of their expressions fully composed. Blue, yellow, yellow, blue.

The third round Adora’s, a small spark of victory lights in her chest, dampened quickly by the mild pain in her wrist.

“Ready to go again?” Catra asks, but Adora shakes her head and steps back, massaging the pain. Her muscles creak as she rolls her wrist back and forth, the product of too many months of fighting without proper care. It’s an excuse to back up a moment — to clear her head.

“I think I need tape,” she says, blinking away whatever fog had crossed her mind for the last few moments.

Catra nods, pushing her hair out of her face. She, too, looks a little unfocused, but Adora concentrates on an old poster on the wall, determined not to focus on her. “Yeah,” Catra agrees. “We’ve got some — c’mere.”

While Catra looks through one of the countless boxes lining the walls, Adora takes a moment to catch her breath and reorganize her thoughts. Catra is a good coworker and a great fighter, someone Adora trusts to have her back. This she’s sure of, but Adora doesn’t know if she wants...whatever _this_ is to keep going.

At the same time, she’s having more fun than she’s had in a long time, even with all the new friends she’s been making. She frowns to herself, trying to compartmentalize. A _friend._ A _coworker,_ not mentioning she’s—

“Here,” Catra appears in front of her, holding KT bandages. “You know how to use these?”

Adora sighs. “Everything’s so fancy,” she mutters, flipping one over. “So, not really?”

Catra rolls her eyes teasingly and motions for Adora to sit on the table. “Hold still.”

Of course, the little alarm that’s been going off in Adora’s head starts blaring right then. She starts talking — about what, she’s not sure, but it’s a distraction from Catra’s hands dancing over her as she carefully places the tape on her wrists. The slight but growing pain she’s been feeling is relieved almost instantly, leaving only a dull tug in its wake. Catra nods along to Adora’s words as she works. The moment she stops talking, neither of them know what she’d spoken about.

“Uh, thanks,” Adora says, pressing the tape closer to her wrists. She slips the gloves on over the bandages, even though she has enough support from the tape now to not need them.

“Mhmm,” Catra replies, tossing the extra bandages back into their bin. She turns away and Adora lets out a short breath, trying to calm down. For once, the voice in her head is quiet on what to do next.

“One to two,” Adora says, pointing between them. She doesn’t think about how Catra’s shirt rides up a little as she stretches.

Catra drums her fingers on her leg. “And what about it?” she asks, smiling sweetly.

Adora crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m catching up.”

“You wish.”

They take their places again. Before Adora can think of a plan, Catra is under her guard, dropping her heel into Adora’s foot and angling her elbow at Adora’s jaw. She moves with the hit to deflect some of the power and hooks her knee around Catra’s leg, spinning her shoving her in the chest to send her reeling back....but Catra leans _further_ , reaching over her head and arcing through the air gracefully, pushing off her hands and stepping deftly to her feet — a perfectly executed back handspring.

“Neat trick,” Adora mutters. Her cheeks flush red — from the rush of the match.

Catra gives a little bow with a flourish of her hand, mirroring Adora’s smile. Her ponytail bounces under the lights. Closing the distance, she gets under Adora’s guard yet again, and then Adora’s on the ground, _again,_ before she takes Catra’s hand. One-three. She leans over her knees, the world spinning slightly and slightly muted. She hears her blood pulse through her ears.

“You better not let this end here, princess.”

“Not if I can help it,” Adora breathes. 

The next match, Catra missteps less than twenty seconds in and taps out. It’s easy — too easy, although Adora doesn’t point it out — like maybe she too wants this to drag out a little longer.

“Lucky shot,” Catra taunts. “I could’ve won.” 

“We’re still on the edge here,” Adora points out. They’re two to three now, and Adora herself has to win two more matches — three in a row — to win the competition, but any one that goes to Catra means she takes all. Adora rolls her shoulder back, sure of the next match.

This time, Adora has a plan. She remembers knocking Catra over in the third match, surprised by how easily she went down. Now, she knows she can use that to her advantage. They dance around each other for too long, each testing punches and even kicks but breaking apart the moment they get too close, now confident with the other person’s style.

Catra says something, her voice filled with mirth, but Adora doesn’t catch what she says, knowing she’s only trying to distract her. Adora steps in, punching right-left, and — _there_ — Adora leans right, snapping her arms around Catra’s waist. However, Catra immediately hooks her elbow over Adora’s right bicep and steps between her legs, putting all her weight onto her right foot as she kicks her left leg up, pulling Adora’s feet out from under her and successfully spinning her over her shoulder.

Adora twists onto her back, keeping her arms tight around Catra’s midsection and pulling into the roll with her, and they end up in a mess on the floor, laughing. When Adora ends up with one knee over Catra’s stomach and her forearm across her shoulders, Catra taps Adora’s shoulder with an overdramatic sigh.

“Guess that’s you.”

“Guess it’s me,” Adora chirps back. “Three-three, all tied up. Ready for the tiebreaker?” Her pulse picks up, probably a warning sign but nothing she’s not used to. They get to their feet, both weary but neither backing down. Now, it could go either way.

They trade back and forth, dodging and ducking under the other’s punches, rolling with their kicks.

Finally, Catra kicks with her left, hitting Adora in the side under her arm. Adora sees it coming the split-second before it happens (Catra exhales before kicks, inhales and breathes out sharply with punches, but Adora won’t inform her of her tells until after the competition is over) and catches behind her knee. Catra tries to punch left, but Adora ducks and her fist only slides against her shoulder as Adora wraps her other arm around her waist, catching her off balance.

Catra grabs Adora’s bicep, just struggling for balance now, and Adora pushes forward, shifting her arms up to better tackle Catra around the waist, sending them both to the ground again. Adora’s weight falls awkwardly on her wrist — her own fault, she knows — but she doesn’t make any attempt to move.

Catching her breath, Adora realizes how close they are. Her hands are on either side of Catra’s shoulders, their faces inches away — they’re lucky they didn’t bash their heads together in the fall — and Adora’s eyes widen slightly. She tries not to, she _really_ really does, but her eyes flick to Catra’s lips for just a breath, blink and you miss it, but Catra’s eyes are wide open and there’s not really any missing anything when they’re this close.

“Uh.” Adora pushes herself up. Catra’s arm is hooked around Adora on instinct, to bring her down in the fall, but she lets go now. The space between them grows substantially as she pulls away, cool air brushing her stomach. Adora’s wrist twinges painfully. Catra blinks. 

Adora clears her throat, sitting back on her heels, and then realizes she’s still _way_ too close and tips sideways, pulling herself off of Catra, who sits up with a confused look on her face. Her hand moves toward her face, but she stops herself halfway. Adora watches out of the side of her eye.

Adora clears her throat again, rubbing her wrist and looking at the ceiling. “Good game,” she says. “Er—match. Whatever.” Her already red cheeks burn even brighter.

Catra’s voice is quiet. “Yeah.”

Adora flops to the floor, still trying to catch her breath. The mat is cool against her back and she’s a sweaty mess, but she kind of wants to just lay here for a moment and sort through all the thoughts in her head, welcome or unwelcome, and determine what she’s supposed to do next with this fluttery feeling in her chest that shortens her breath and sends her head spinning.

“Well…” Catra starts, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. “It’s getting late — well, early. I mean—" she sighs at her fumbling. “Daybreak is coming soon. Do you…?”

Adora opens her eyes and tips her head toward Catra. “Do I what? Can’t always fill in the blanks for ya,” she replies, getting back into the rhythm of their banter.

Catra flushes red, and Adora tries not to think about what that means in the same way she’s not looking at Catra’s messy ponytail or her bare arms or _anything_ really, because why would she, and because Adora really should get out of here, shouldn’t she?

“It’s nothing. I’ve got a shift soon.” Catra springs to her feet, eying the door with intent. “I’ve got to go.”

Adora nods. “Yeah, me too.” She stands uneasily, avoiding Catra’s gaze. 

“See you tomorrow?” Catra says, in a tone Adora could almost describe as _hopeful._

Adora nods again. “Yeah. Tomorrow. And, uh...good game, again.”

“You too.” Catra’s gaze follows her out of the room.

Leaving the gym, Adora is sure to head _away_ from the Fright Zone. She leans against a wall once Catra’s footsteps fade in the opposite direction, needing a moment alone with her thoughts. 

_Catra, huh?_

Adora sighs. “Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my personal favorite chapter btw, and it was written almost entirely by x. EVERYONE TELL HER THANK U -anyonesaunt


	12. Promise

“Damnit, damnit, damnit, damnit,  _ fuck!”  _ Catra smacks the side of the game in frustration, then gives it a kick for good measure. “I died again! This thing is broken! Damnit!” 

Adora, meanwhile, is doubled over laughing. “It’s not broken, Catra, you’re just no good at it.” She pushes Catra to the side with her hip, taking over the controls. “Your problem is, you always forget that the razor-fins have razor sharp  _ teeth.  _ Not fins. So you have to use them to  _ bite,  _ see? Left button.” 

“Who’s idea was that?!” Catra whines. “Their freaking  _ name  _ is—"

“I know, I know! That’s just the way Beast Island works, baby.” Adora winks, turning back to the screen. “Oh, shit, blood beetles!” 

When Adora finishes, she’s won again, and Catra’s not surprised. She leans against the game, waiting for Adora to type in her signature P-O-P (“Now I have 8 of the leaderboard slots, how ya feel about that?”), when she hears it again: 

“ _ Not now."  _ Barely above a whisper, but Adora is undoubtedly talking. 

“There!” Catra jumps up and points, smiling wide. “You did it again!” 

Adora eyes her. “Did what?” 

“Talked to yourself! I heard it! Just then!” She crosses her arms, proud of herself. “You can’t deny it.” 

“I’ve told you a thousand times. I don’t talk to myself.” Adora powers off the game and steps away, avoiding Catra’s gaze. 

“Come on, Adora. I caught you in the act.” She follows her excitedly, poking her in the back just to be annoying. “It’s just you and me in here! You can tell me! It’s an imaginary friend, isn’t it?” Catra grins, yanks on Adora’s ponytail. “Is it? Is it? I won’t make fun of you, I promise.” 

Adora spins around, swatting Catra’s hand harder than she expected. “ _ Quit it! _ I don’t wanna talk about it!” 

Catra is stunned into silence for a moment. She swallows, watching Adora’s eyes soften.

“Sorry,” Adora mumbles, looking down. “I didn’t mean to...I’m sorry. I’m the worst.” 

_ Upsetting everyone in your life,  _ Shadow Weaver says. _ I’m not surprised, Catra, that you made her feel this way. You make  _ everyone _ feel this way.  _

“No, Adora —” Catra extends a hand for Adora’s arm, but retracts it at the last second, stuffing it into her own pocket. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have asked.” 

_ You’re such a burden. _

“I’m—I’m such a burden,” Catra repeats, staring at her feet. 

Adora, however, didn’t hear her. She’s across the room now, staring at a poster. 

**SHE-RA, THE PRINCESS OF POWER SAYS: KEEP YOUR WEAPONS CLEAN!**

“Mara,” she says, not turning around. 

“Wh—what?” 

“My sister. Mara.” 

Catra stands behind her now, resists the urge to hug her, comfort her, anything. 

Adora points at the poster. “That’s her. In the doctor costume.” 

“Oh,” Catra says, and then, feeling braver: “What happened?” 

“She got sick.” 

_ Oh.  _ “Adora, I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s funny, you know,” Adora says, turning to pace the room, voice shaking. “Because she was an EMT. You know, an emergency responder. She saved people’s lives every day. That was her  _ job.  _ And she couldn’t...she couldn’t save her own.” 

“Adora…” 

“Not to say she didn’t fight. She fought. She fucking  _ fought  _ for her life _ ,  _ right up until the end. Even when you could tell it was over. Even when the doctors were telling her it was over. Even when she only had the energy to eat and sleep and...and…” Adora sits now, sliding down against the wall and leaning her head against it. Catra doesn’t say anything. She can tell she isn’t done.

“I miss her.” Adora closes her eyes. “I miss seeing her. It’s not the same. What we have now.” 

“The voice,” Catra breathes.

“Yes.” 

“It’s…” 

“Yes. I hear her. I’ve heard her every day since the day she died.” She opens her eyes, suddenly nervous. “I don’t think it’s actually  _ her,  _ of course, I’m not  _ delusional _ —"

Catra kneels down in front of her, cutting her off by grabbing her wrists, forcing Adora to look at her. “Adora, I don’t care what you believe the voice is. It doesn’t matter. I’m not judging.” 

Adora stares for a moment, and Catra stares back.

Adora blinks, and it’s over. She pulls her hands away, wipes her nose. 

“I...I guess I don’t know what it is. It’s probably me. My brain. Just, a coping mechanism or something. But I  _ do  _ hear it.” She sighs. “She’s...it’s the reason I’m here.” 

Catra sits now, crossing her legs and leaning in. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean...it’s the zombie apocalypse, Catra.” She laughs humorlessly, gesturing widely in a reference to the entire situation. “It’s the end of the world. It would be so easy to just...give up.” 

Catra understands. 

“But Mara never gave up. Mara never stopped fighting. And it didn’t work out for her. Her life was cut short. And  _ I _ …I was given the same opportunity as her. The chance to fight for whatever life I have left. Whatever that life will be. So...I’m doing it. I’m here. I’m alive.” She shrugs, pulls her knees to her chest. “For her, I guess.” 

“Wow.” Catra feels guilty for not having anything more intelligent to say. “Thanks.” 

“For what?” 

“For telling me, I guess.” She smiles softly. “That’s the first step. To getting better.” 

Adora groans, shutting her eyes. 

“What? What did I say?” 

“Nothing, nothing...it’s just, I don’t know.” She sighs. “I kind of told myself I wouldn’t make any more friends. That I’d go at it alone. Because I know how hard it is to lose people. And it’s easier to, just, push them away, I guess. Not suffer the heartbreak.” She peeks open an eye and smiles, just a little. “People like you, though…” she shoves Catra playfully, who giggles. “You’re making it so fucking hard.” 

“Is there a compliment buried in there?” Catra laughs. 

Adora exhales, blushing slightly. “Don’t read into it.” 

“Too late, Adora. We’re friends, whether you like it or not.”

There’s silence, for a moment. And for once, Adora doesn’t feel the need to break it. Instead, she musters up the courage to meet Catra’s eyes, fixed on her this entire time. They’re softer than usual. Warm.

Blue and yellow, blue and yellow, blue and yellow. 

“I hear one, too,” Catra says suddenly. “A voice. In my head.” She laughs, in awe of herself. “Shit, why am I telling you this?” 

“No, no. Don’t be embarrassed.” Adora sits forward. “Go on.” 

“Okay. Okay.” Catra looks at the ceiling - so much easier than Adora’s sympathetic face - and continues, as hard as it is. “It’s not like you have with Mara. Not at all. It’s...my mother. Or, supposedly, my mother. Don’t know how we could possibly be related. Don’t want to be.” She chuckles dryly. “She was also the head of my...school, I guess, if you could call it that.” 

“I’m guessing she wasn’t very…” Adora halts, trying to think of the right word. “Motherly.” 

“No. No, she wasn’t.” 

“What does she say?” 

Catra pauses. “Just...I guess...oh, nothing much.” 

Adora looks worried now. “Catra, what does she say?” 

“Um...mostly just stuff that she’d say to me at school. Things she’s said before. About...me.” 

“Catra,” Adora says, reaching out and touching her hand. “You can tell me. That’s the first step to getting better.” 

Catra groans. “Using my own logic against me? Awful move.” 

“Great move,” Adora corrects. 

“Well, if you knew Shadow Weaver, you’d understand. She had some twisted views about leadership. And sacrifice.” 

“Sacrifice?” 

“Yeah. I felt like it was directed at me, to be honest. Just…” Catra runs a hand through her hair, trying to articulate it. “Telling me that, I don’t know, that I cause nothing but pain to others, that I’m worthless, that maybe everything would be better if I just sacrificed myself for the cause.” It tumbles out of her mouth without thought, and Catra wishes she could take it back the second she sees Adora’s terrified face. 

“ _ Catra,”  _ Adora breathes. “Don’t say that.”

_ You’ve hurt her again. All you do is hurt people. _

“I didn’t mean to—” 

“Catra, stop. Look at me.” Adora swipes a tear from Catra’s cheek. “You can’t listen to her. She’s wrong. Catra, you’re worth something alive. You’re worth  _ everything  _ alive. You  _ mean  _ something to us, to this team. No matter what she says. You’re  _ good.  _ We love you. I…” she tapers off, unable to finish. 

_ She doesn’t mean it. _

“You don’t mean…” 

“Don’t finish that sentence.” Adora looks determined now, possibly even angry. “I mean it. I’ve noticed your self-destructive behaviors, Catra, and it doesn’t make you a hero. Catra, I need you. Here, with me. Because you’re worth something, Catra. You  _ matter  _ to me.” 

The voice is silent. 

“You...you matter to me, too.” Catra swallows, and Adora looks at her eyes. 

Blue and yellow, blue and yellow. 

Then, her lips. Parted, just a little. Nervous, maybe. 

Adora moves her thumb, still resting on Catra’s hand, in a circle, slowly, and she doesn’t know why. She doesn’t know a lot of things. Like, for example, what she’s going to do next. She hopes that Catra will make the decision for her. 

Then,  _ bam.  _ The door of the Fright Zone slams open, basking the pair of them in the harsh hallway light. They both leap up instinctively, instantly springing away from one another as if they’d been shocked. In the doorway is Kyle, who looks surprised to see them there. 

“Hey,” he says, his voice turning upwards like a question. 

“We were just—um, just, we were just—" stammers Adora. 

“Playing Beast Island,” finishes Catra, smiling widely.

“Oh. Cool.” Kyle glances between them and the game, which is easily twenty feet away from them. “Um. Well. I was just looking for Rogelio.”

“On patrol until 6,” Catra answers robotically, putting her hands behind her back. Keeping them to herself.

“Oh. Well, thanks anyway. Sorry to bother you.” Kyle backs out the door clumsily, shutting it behind him. 

They exhale in unison. Freaking Kyle. 

“We should probably grab some food,” Catra eventually says, looking at the clock. 

“Agreed. But, first, Catra…” She turns back to her. “I meant what I said.” 

“I did, too.” 

“I’m glad you’re my friend. And friends tell each other things. So. Catra.” She crosses her arms sternly. “You have to promise me something.” 

Catra matches her stance. “What is it?” 

“You’ll tell me. If you hear her again. If she’s hurting you again.” Adora pauses. “Please.” 

“I promise,” Catra says. 

_ Liar. _

Adora’s shoulders relax, and she smiles. “Good.” She stretches, exhausted. “Now, what was that about food?” 

Catra, too, relaxes, glad to be moving on. “Entrapta found a crashed Twinkie truck about a mile out of the city yesterday...if you’re interested.” 

“If I’m interested?! Catra, you don’t know me at all.” She’s already halfway out the door by the time her sentence is done. 

Catra grins and shakes her head before following her. 

Adora’s lighthearted chatter is almost loud enough to drown out the voice in her head. 

_ Liar, liar, liar. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH KYLE. CLASSIC KYLE -anyonesaunt


	13. Signals

She’s watching Kyle play Beast Island when it happens. Well, watching him, kind of, but mostly making fun of him. After all, he’s still battling for tenth place, and Catra finds it hilarious.

She can tell it’s serious when she sees Mermista’s face. Dull, empty, standing in the doorway without saying anything. Sea Hawk is behind her, and, for once, he, too, is speechless.

Catra turns, brows furrowed. “Everything okay?” She says, already growing worried.

“Hordes,” Mermista breathes. Saying it aloud seems to jolt her into action, and she immediately begins searching for her keys.

“Past the barricade,” finishes Sea Hawk. He pulls out a box of matches, empty, and goes behind the counter to grab more.

Catra catches her breath. “Wh...what?”

“Yes. Hurry.” Mermista joins Sea Hawk behind the weapons counter, assessing her options. “They came out of nowhere.”

Catra shakes herself out of her shock and springs into action. “Which side of the building?” she calls, grabbing her knives.

“North. The park — advancing fast. More on the way.” Mermista selects a club, holds it over her shoulder. “We’re running out of time.”

“Any casualties?” Catra asks, terrified of the answer, but needing to know all the same.

Mermista looks at Sea Hawk, eyes frenzied. They don’t say anything, but Catra can sense what they’re thinking.

“Let’s...let’s prevent any more.” Catra steadies her breathing, bends down to strap on boots. “Who’s available to fight?”

“Other than us?” Mermista sighs. “Entrapta, for sure, and Scorpia. Bow and Glimmer, of course. Lonnie, Rogelio. And maybe a few others — not sure if I trust them enough to fight this battle, though. It’s...rough out there.”

The orders come quick, biting through the slight buzzing in Catra’s head and drowning out her fear. She can’t afford to be anything but focused right now. “Sea Hawk, you round them up.”

“Aye!” he yells, already running out the door.

“Kyle, stop standing there. Get dressed. Pick a weapon. We need you.”

He falters in place momentarily before nodding, scrambling to find his jacket.

“And Mermista…” Catra rises, shoving excess knives down her shoes. “Where’s Adora?”

“Here,” answers a voice from the doorway. Adora, with her sword already strapped to her waist (the sheath being a gift from Entrapta), waves. “What’s going on?”

“Horde attack. North side of mall.” Catra gives her a once-over — she looks like she just rolled out of bed.

Adora sticks her lip out. “I’ll help.”

Catra almost yells _no_ , but she remembers the situation. As much as she hates putting Adora’s — or _anyone’s_ lives in danger — this is bigger than that.

“Okay, She-Ra,” Catra responds, and Adora almost leaps in delight. So innocent, so eager to help. “You’ll need some better clothes. Here…” Catra runs to the hooks where they hang jackets — tough leather and denim, perfect for protecting arms from horde bites. There’s only one left. “Take this.”

Adora trots up to her, taking the garment. “The last one? What are you gonna wear?” She worriedly looks down at Catra’s short sleeved tee. It’s flimsy fabric with the words ‘WILD CAT’ printed on it in white letters.

Catra attempts to brush it off. “I’ll be fine.”

“Catra—”

“No. Seriously, Adora. You take it.” She plasters on a smile. “I’ll be careful. Always am.”

“That’s my line,” Adora grumbles.

“Not anymore,” Catra responds with a smile. She does a little gesture with her finger, asking Adora to turn around, which she does. She pulls the jacket over Adora’s shoulders, who blushes profusely.

Mermista watches the interaction with a hand on her hip and a scowl on her face. “Stop flirting, you two. We have to _go_.”

“We weren’t—” Catra begins, before deciding it’s no use. Adora buttons up and she follows her out of the Fright Zone and into the hallway, Kyle close behind.

Mermista talks quickly as the group walks, relaying any information she remembers. “We’re guessing maybe five primes and hundreds of others. No word on where they came from or how they got past the barricade. And no identification on the primes yet. Remember, go for them first, if you can spot them.”

They nod, and Catra takes over. “Keep them from getting any closer to the mall, if possible. We have an evacuation plan, just in case they get inside. Protect other survivors, and if someone goes down get them out of there. And don’t get bit, scratched, anything.”

They nod grimly, and the group scatters down the staircase and across the entryway. Adora and Catra run stride for stride to help, and they’re together when the battle begins.

🗡️🛡️

Adora gasps for breath, taking the quick reprieve to check her surroundings. The others fight around her, weapons blazing. Catra catches her eye for a moment and they share a grim look, knowing too many of the fallen are their own.

The next line approaches quickly. At the barricade in front of them, the watchtower where they would normally have taken a shift is empty. Black smoke rises from the barricade wall, hordes shuffling through the blazing flames with raised shouts and groans. In the distance, Adora hears the rumble of Mermista’s truck and knows the fire will be out soon, but for now they’re on their own. The green park, once filled with flower beds and cutesy sidewalks, now resembles something closer to a cemetery.

Split into groups of twos and threes, they’re holding on. Catra and Adora make a good team — Bow raises a hand to ask if they need help, but Adora brushes him off. She and Catra can take the approaching wave.

Eleven close in on them now. Adora takes the left and Catra the right, their backs to the mall. Between their blades the fights are usually quick, but one of the hordes are smarter than the others, quicker and meaner. It slips out of Adora’s field of vision, slinking around her to the left, out of reach. Another goes for Catra, hands extended like claws.

“My five,” Adora warns as she topples a horde. The other grabs her blade in its fist and twists, trying to free the blade from her grip. Adora lets the sword turn for a moment before yanking it backward, drawing a clean line through the horde’s palm. Before it can attempt a second attack, she drives her shoulder into its chest and cleaves the blade downward in a final strike.

She checks behind her, where the third horde should be, but it isn't paying attention to Adora. It creeps forward, startlingly stealthy as is nears Catra, who is preoccupied fighting two others, and Adora shouts but it’s already grabbing her by the shoulders and — _shink_ — Adora’s blade skims close to Catra’s skin as Adora cuts the zombie away from her, turning to finish the job.

“Thanks,” Catra says, rubbing her shoulder. The horde’s blood soaks the back of her shirt and it must be burning hot, but she only grimaces and waves off Adora’s concern. The other hordes lay dead on the ground, a knife’s hilt protruding from one. Catra reaches to pick it up, obviously shaken by the close call.

“No scratches, yeah?” Adora pants, out of breath.

Catra looks briefly at her back. “No.” She stands unsteadily for a moment before checking herself, realizing she’s nearly out of knives. She yanks one from a horde’s body with a grimace. “I hate throwing these,” she mutters. “Never know if I’ll get them back.” Catra raises a hand to block the sun’s glare and squints toward the barricade, where the battle is tapering off. A small group has parked a car in the gap and is hastily organizing boards where the barricade had breached, cutting off further attacks. Sentries stand on the roofs of the cars on either side, taking out any hordes that approach outside the wall. Still, other zombies make their way across the courtyard to them.

“Up for a couple more?” Adora asks, her words teasing but voice somber. Catra nods.

Some time later, Scorpia finally, _finally_ , finishes off the last of them and silence falls across the courtyard. Lonnie offers Kyle a hand to stand. Each fighter lets their guard down a little, weight lifting from their shoulders. Slowly, mechanically, the team wipes their weapons on the grass, helps others rise to their feet, and stumbles inside.  
Adora wipes hot blood off her jacket, where a horde had attempted to bite through the fabric. The skin is burned a crimson red, the skin already peeling, but no infection.

_Close call._

Adora takes a shuddering breath. She closes her eyes for a moment to steady herself, gathers her thoughts, her fears, and her worries, places them in a quiet box in her head, and shuts it away. For now.

“Everyone okay?” Adora calls across the entryway. They’ve tracked blood into the foyer, but that’s not important. The moment the words are out she flinches, remembering the four patrol guards taken in the initial hit to the barricade and the two others in the battle.

Fortunately, no one else fell, but six is still too many. No one was bitten, though many are burned, and the group slowly disperses to clean up and tend to their various bruises. They will have funerals to come, but now is for regroup and recovery.

Adora finds Catra sitting against a wall in the foyer, her hands over her face and eyes closed. She’s a few yards from the food court, where some of the fighters are enjoying a much deserved dinner, but she hasn’t joined them.

“Hey,” Adora says, sliding to sit next to her.

Catra doesn’t respond. She takes a slow breath.

“Catra?”

“Heard you the first time, thanks,” she snaps, hands still covering her face. Adora’s eyes widen and Catra stills. “Sorry,” she mutters through her fingers. “Tough fight.”

Adora nods. “Yeah,” she agrees, thinking of nothing else to say.

Catra doesn’t look up from her hands.

“Are you...are you alright?” Adora pokes Catra playfully, trying to grab her attention.

“Yeah. Tired, that’s all.” Adora notices she has found a jacket, a thin one, flannel. Catra rubs the fabric between her fingers, almost as if she’s just noticing it, as well. “Um...and cold. It’s cold in here.”

“You sure? You’re sweating.” It’s true — all of her visible skin is damp and clammy.

“Not sweat. Water. Just...had to clean up a bit.”

They sit in silence for a moment before Adora stands unsteadily, her muscles burning. The fight hadn’t been long — thirty minutes, maybe, ages less than a patrol — but any fight is drawn out for ten times its actual length. She rolls her shoulders back, knowing her arms will ache for days, and offers a hand to Catra.

Pulling her to her feet, Adora wonders what she can do to help. Catra takes every casualty to heart, she knows, and although it’s not her fault, Adora doesn’t know how to convince her of it.

“You hungry?” she asks, hoping she can comfort her better over food.

“Not really.” Catra’s cheeks are flushed with frustration and words unspoken. She blinks rapidly as she chances a look at Adora.

“You should try to eat,” encourages Adora, watching her trembling form. “Just a bite. With me.”

Catra doesn’t respond this time. She just shakes her head and lets go of Adora’s hand before Adora can speak again, silently departing down the hallway, rubbing her eyes with her fists.

Adora watches her go, wishing she could help, wondering if the voice is plaguing Catra once again.

🗡️

Patrol with Catra this morning, thank the stars. Adora needs the time to relax — well, relax being a word used lightly as she prepares to go fight zombies with her — friend? She pauses on the word in her head. Catra has said she’s her friend, but she can barely accept it. Their relationship is too complicated for such a small word. She was a stranger, then enemy, then grudging coworker and reluctant friend, and now...Adora sighs.

She’s happy to spend time with Catra, and Adora will let herself enjoy the shift. That’s it.

Adora knows Catra is looking forward to their patrol together, too. Whenever Catra is around the others, she assumes a leader’s role, taking action and providing answers constantly. She’s confident and in control, but Adora sees where the stress weighs on her shoulders, deepening her exhaustion and chipping away at her bravado. After the battle the day before, Adora knows she will be feeling the pressure twice as much.

 _Date night,_ Mara whispers.

Adora groans aloud. Okay, so maybe the whole ‘that’s it’ part wasn’t a lie exactly, but it wasn’t the whole truth, either. Adora’s not sure where the line is between the two of them, but second guessing everything (once a constant habit, now something she’s learning to grow past) won’t help her understand Catra any better.

Sparring with Catra and then talking with her, letting herself be seen for the first time in too long, Adora has discovered something about herself.

She isn’t afraid to be getting close. For so long, Adora has pulled away from any affection, slapped at any helping hand, and gone it alone. She convinced herself it was for the better, but each day, it seems to be further from the truth. Allowing herself to want a relationship with Catra — no matter what it is, friendship or (she blushes a little) something other — is freeing, and maybe a little selfish, but sometimes you need to choose for yourself what you want. She’d heard it before, that it can be worth it to allow yourself to open up, and it seems like it might be true.

Well, that’s what Adora hopes, anyway. If she’s wrong, she might have just fucked up a lot of lives.

She has time before the shift and doesn’t know what to do with herself. People are getting breakfast in the food court right now, but she’s not in the mood to talk with the group, especially because people will probably be looking for answers on what to do about the broken barricade. For now, a temporary wall has been constructed, but they don’t have the materials yet to fix it to its former strength.

Adora really should get on that, but she needs a couple moments to be herself without all the worry that comes with her new life.

She doesn’t realize she’s searching until she comes up empty.

At first, she’s just walking, wandering and waiting for something to happen. Looking. Blue and yellow, yellow and blue.

Passing through the Fright Zone a second time, worry begins to creep at Adora’s mind. She smiles halfheartedly at the small gathering by the prize counter, too distracted to join their conversation.

She circles the third floor.

She enters every store on the second, and when she reaches the food court on the first, the worry is pounding its fists inside her head, pulling at her stomach and causing her hands to shake. She fights to keep calm, but reality battles her reasoning.

Adora takes another lap. She lays eyes on every person in the mall. She checks the patrol schedule again, already sure of what it will tell her.

Jogging up the stairs to the third floor for the fourth time, Adora decides to check one last place, one last time.

Catra’s room is clean but cluttered. A disassembled radio sits on a desk, parts littered across schedules and inventory lists. Her phone charges on the bed. The sheets are rumpled, covering a bumpy shape.

Adora takes a breath and pulls the covers back, not sure what she’s expecting to see. Whatever she was expecting, it isn’t what she finds: knives, each sheathed and laid out in a careful line on the mattress.

The panic in her chest, which had been barely controlled until now, bursts out of its containment.

For all their time in Mystacor, Adora doesn’t know if Catra has ever left her knives behind.

She walks down the stairs in a trance. The stairwell door opens before her and she’s standing in the food court and all eyes are on her and she must have said something she can’t remember, but the only things that matter are the knives in her hand and the question that she already knows the answer to.

“Where’s Catra?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ummmmmmmm our bad. thanks for all the comments, y’all are so sweet :,) - xandrillia


	14. The Frozen Forest

“Scorpia, Perfuma, you take everything north of Krytis Street. Lonnie, Rogelio, Kyle, you take everything south.” Adora’s spitting out orders faster and with more authority than she ever has in her life. It’s hard to do through panic in her head, but she manages. “Mermista and Sea Hawk, get in the truck. Go to the Whispering Woods. Check there. Double Trouble, scope out, investigate any group of hordes you can find. See if she...if she’s with them.” Her voice cracks on the last bit. Double Trouble just nods, slipping out of the room with the others. 

The group knows it’s pointless just as much as Adora does. If Catra has left, it’s on her own volition, and she doesn’t want to be found. And, if she has left, there’s a good reason  — a good,  _ obvious  _ reason, that no one dares to speak. 

Well, no one but Entrapta. “You know she was probably bit, right?” She says it bluntly but with sympathy, reaching out to touch Adora’s arm. “She was acting strange after the battle. She was affected by the light. There was blood in her bed. She left without supplies. And she didn’t have a jacket.” 

Adora stares ahead, sniffles, clears her throat. Entrapta watches a tear roll down her cheek. 

“You’re with me,” is all she says, already walking towards Emily. “You, too, Bow and Glimmer.” They exchange a quick look, but follow Adora without a word. Entrapta takes the driver’s seat, and Adora, the passenger’s.

Adora feels a hand reach from the backseat to rest on her shoulder. 

“You know it wasn’t your fault, right?” whispers Glimmer into her ear. “If she was bit, it wasn’t your fault.” 

All Adora does is nod, not believing her. Bow and Glimmer exchange another look.

Entrapta drives slowly through the streets, and everyone leans out the windows, peering into the buildings. They yell Catra’s name occasionally without a response. Adora just stares out the window. Stares, wishes, hopes, prays. 

Bow, who has been quiet for most of the search, speaks up after about an hour. “If...I’m not saying this happened, but if she were bit...how long would…”

Entrapta autocompletes his thought. “How long would it take for her to transform into a zombie? That’s a tough one. Depends on the type of zombie she is. For normal ones, you know, just regular members of the horde, it’s a few hours. Sometimes less. But if she’s a prime...well, their brains are more sophisticated. Complicated. Capable of complex thought  — complex, of course, being relative. What I’m trying to say is that the process can take longer. A  _ lot  _ longer. I’d say a full day, maybe two.” She glances at Adora. “Either way, if we found her mid transformation…” 

“There’s nothing we can do.” Adora doesn’t even bat an eye. “I know.” 

Glimmer sighs. “Adora, I’m just not sure if this is—"

“ _ I KNOW!”  _ Adora screams, spinning around to face Glimmer. “I know, okay?! I  _ know _ that if we find her, it may already be too late! But...but…” she struggles with her thought, and Bow grabs Glimmer’s hand. “But I have to try. I  _ have  _ to.” 

“Adora,” Bow says softly. “Do you think that if Catra left, she’s doing us a favor? She left because she wanted to. She left because she wanted to protect us. Shouldn’t we—"

“Dad,” Glimmer breathes. 

Adora blinks. “What?” 

“Dad,” Glimmer says, louder this time, voice cracking. She’s looking out the window, fingers pressed against the glass.

“Glimmer, what do you— _ oh,"  _ Bow stops mid sentence, looking out the same window. His jaw drops. 

“What? What’s happening?” Adora turns, trying to see what they see. It’s a Kingdom of Snows ice cream shop, one that’s on the very outskirts of town. Catra once considered raiding it, but the only resource they have is ice cream, which would have certainly melted in transit. Through the fogged windows, Adora makes out a figure. Tall, well-built, dark, wild hair. He’s wiping tables like a teenager at their summer job, and at the sight of him, Glimmer’s breath picks, sweat beading up against her neck. Adora hesitates. “Is that…?” 

“I...I don’t know...I can’t be sure,” Glimmer whimpers, and Bow grips her hand harder. 

Adora knows what it’s like to lose someone. She knows what it’s like to have hope, and she knows what it’s like to have that hope stripped away. But mostly, she knows she’d take any chance, no matter how small, if it meant she might be able to see her again. 

“Stop the car,” she orders Entrapta. “Let’s go take a look.”

🗡️

Glimmer leads the way to the front of the cheery blue and white store. She reaches for the handle, then hesitates. 

“Should I...should I knock?” she asks, looking over her shoulder. 

Adora shrugs. “Up to you.” 

Bow nods vigorously. “I say, when in doubt, be polite.” 

“I could break down the door,” offers Entrapta. 

“No, no...I don’t think that will be necessary. I’ll just…” Glimmer takes a deep breath and raises her fist, hesitating before rapping on the door once, twice, three times in quick succession. 

There’s silence on the other side. Whoever was wiping down tables must’ve moved to the back, because when Adora looks through the windows, she sees nothing. 

“I know I saw someone,” mumbles Glimmer, and she knocks again. 

This time, a response: “Hello?” 

Everyone jumps. The voice is most certainly  _ not  _ Glimmer’s dad’s. If Adora had to guess, she’d say it belongs to a young girl, perhaps a teenager. She doesn’t sound scared, as one might expect; instead, she sounds almost annoyed. 

Glimmer speaks first. “Um...I’m sorry, we were looking for someone else.” 

“How do you know I’m not them?” the girl protests. “You haven’t even seen me.” 

“Gut feeling, I guess,” Glimmer says, almost joking. The disappointment in her voice is evident. “I thought...I mean, I was pretty sure I saw a man standing in the window…” 

“Were you spying on us?!” 

“Us!” shouts Bow, leaping up and pointing. “So there are two of you!” 

“Just tell me who you’re looking for.” The girl’s voice is louder now, coming from right behind the door. 

Glimmer wrings her hands together. “Um...a man. A man named Micah. Do you…?” 

“Micah? Micah King?” 

She catches her breath. “Yes. Do you know him? I’m...his daughter.” 

“His daughter,” the girl repeats softly. 

“Yes,” Glimmer says, touching the door.

“Glimmer.” 

“That’s me. I’m Glimmer. I’m Glimmer King.” Glimmer, overcome with emotion, grows impatient. She grabs at the doorknob, twisting it and yelling. “Dad! Dad, are you in there? It’s me! It’s Glimmer!” 

Adora grabs her shoulder, pulling her back. 

“Calm down,” the girl says. “I’ll go get him.” The next thing she hears is the tap of small feet crossing the tile floor. 

“Glimmer? Are you okay?” Bow steps forward, touches her arm. 

“I’m okay,” she whispers. “I...I haven’t seen him in so long. I thought...I thought that he…” 

In response, Bow pulls her into a hug. 

After a few moments, chains and locks start rattling on the other side. There are hushed whispers, too, with only one sentence clear enough for Adora to understand. 

_ “Don’t get your hopes up." _

Seemingly as a response, the door flings open, and two figures cloud the space. The first one is a short girl with dark hair chopped at her chin, scowling up at them. Her eyes flick between them suspiciously, but she steps back to allow the other person forward, who is—

“DAD!” Glimmer shouts, sure this time, and the man’s face breaks into a smile. 

“Glimmer!” he breathes, grabbing her and picking her up, wrapping her in his arms. “Is it really you?” 

“It’s me, Dad.” She chokes the words out through her tears, her face pressed into his shoulder. 

“I thought you were…” 

“I thought  _ you  _ were…” 

“I would have tried to find you if…!” 

“I would have tried to find  _ YOU  _ if…!” 

“Where have you been?! How are you?” 

Glimmer laughs incredulously. “I’ve been at Mystacor, actually. The mall.” 

He gasps, realizing. “You’re at Mystacor? I’ve heard so many rumors about that place! About the lady who runs it…” 

Everyone instinctively looks at Adora, who stares at her feet. “Speaking of,” she says lowly, not wanting to ruin the family reunion but still on mission, “have you seen her?” 

“Have we seen who?” repeats the girl. 

“Mystacor’s leader. A woman named Catra.” 

The girl taps her foot. “We haven’t seen anyone in months. We basically haven’t left the Kingdom since this all started. I’m Frosta, by the way.”

Entrapta quirks an eyebrow, entering the conversation. “How is this place a viable option to live in? It doesn’t look like it has any food left. No storage space. And…” she looks around the dining room, still confused. “I don’t see any weapons.” 

“Actually,” Frosta says proudly. “All of that can be solved by one thing.” 

“Oh?” Entrapta bounces on the balls of her feet, excited. “And what would that be?” 

“The freezer,” Micah and Frosta answer in unison. 

“The freezer,” repeat Entrapta and Adora. 

“Why don’t I show you?” Frosta offers, noting their intrigue. “And you guys...” she gestures between Bow, Glimmer, and Micah, who have pulled away from them and are talking to each other in low voices. “You can stay here. Catch up. There’s some Glacier Cherry ice cream behind the counter.” 

Everyone nods and splits up, Micah wiping tears from his beard and Frosta leading the way to the back. 

“I was here when the apocalypse started, actually,” she says over her sounder to Entrapta and Adora. “My parents own the place. Or, owned, I guess. Some guy wandered in...the first horde I’d ever seen, bloody and screaming and running at people. I didn’t know what to do, so I ran to the back. Into the freezer.” She sniffs, clearly not enjoying relaying this memory. “Anyway, I hid there for a few minutes, until the chaos died out. And when I came out, everyone had evacuated, but...the guy. The horde, I guess. It was still there. And when it saw me, it chased me, and I had no other option, so I just ran back to the freezer, and…” at this point, they’ve reached the heavy metal freezer door. She smiles slyly at her guests before opening it. 

“Ah! Zombie!” Adora shrieks at the sight of a horde standing frozen in the room. 

“No! Not a zombie!” realizes Entrapta, dashing into the freezer and assessing the creature. “It’s dead. For real. Look, Adora, it’s frozen.” 

Frosta smiles again, continuing with her story. “I discovered that day that zombies...well, you know how they’re all boiling hot? Like, you literally get burns from touching them. I discovered that the cold is their weakness.” She joins Entrapta in the freezer, knocking her fist against the frozen zombie. It makes a harsh clanging sound. “Just pop them in here for a few minutes, and they start slowing down, freezing up. And then, after a few hours...they die.” 

“How can you be sure if you thaw them out they won’t come back alive?” asks Entrapta, who’s inspecting every inch of the horde. 

“We tried it. Micah and I. He showed up after a few weeks, I took him in, and we decided to try it out. We thawed out a horde, and nothing happened. The zombie was still dead. We think it has something to do with the virus. Like, it needs hot conditions to function, and if it gets too cold…” she shrugs. “The virus dies.” 

“Interesting,” murmurs Adora. She stands face to face with the zombie. It was a young man, once, no older than Adora herself. She sees her fear reflected in his face, frozen in a grimace. Resolve, anger, frustration...her thoughts trail off.

She won’t be like this one. And neither will anyone else  — she’s not letting anyone else get hurt, not like the people in here. She turns to the rest and her somber train of thought is interrupted at the sight of countless other zombies strewing the room. Adora is suddenly reminded of her first few nights in the Whispering Woods, weaving through tree trunks, any of which could be a horde waiting to attack.

“Shit!” she exclaims. Somewhat embarrassed with her reaction (swearing in front of a kid, really?), she tries to brush off her curse. “Uh  — h ow many of these are there?” 

Frosta shrugs, gesturing to the dozens of other frozen hordes in the freezer. “We get a bunch more every day. We just lure them in here, freeze them up, and then drag them out at the end of the week to make room for more. We dump their bodies behind the shop. We need room for supplies and food in here too, after all.” She smiles. “A pretty good situation, all things considered.”

“Not very efficient,” mumbles Entrapta, “if you can kill a horde in seconds by destroying the brain.” 

Frosta shrugs. “Less risky.” 

“What’s that one?” Adora asks softly. In the frozen forest of zombies, there’s one that’s not like the others. It’s a person, or, almost a person. He’s mid-transformation, and he’s sitting with his hands around his knees in a corner. And he’s frozen. Frozen solid, but still undeniably different  — human. 

“Oh.” Frosta sighs, stepping towards the once-living statue, and Entrapta tentatively follows. “He was a guy we found wandering the streets a few weeks back. He’d been bit earlier, see?” She points to his shoulder, where the harsh outline of a zombie teeth marks are evident. “Anyway, we were prepared to kill him. Micah and I. We don’t really have weapons, but I was gonna beat him down with a chair.” Entrapta nods along. “And he didn’t want us to. We told him, ‘you’re mid-transformation, we have to do something.’ But he didn’t want to die like that. So we offered the freezer. We let him in here. To freeze. And die, I guess.” Frosta looks down at the figure. His eyes dilated, the skin around his bite bubbled and greenish. He looks scared. “And we kept his body in here. Because he doesn’t feel like the others. I’d feel weird discarding him. Because...he’s still human.” 

Adora, feeling the affects of the freezer, rubs up and down her arms. “We should probably get out of here.” 

“Yeah. It’s cold,” agrees Frosta. 

“Wait,” Entrapta mutters. 

“Hmm?” Adora huffs out a breath, watching it form a cloud in the air. 

“Wait. It looks like…” she kneels down next to the frozen man, her eyes wide with wonder. “No, it can’t be.” 

“What? What is it?” Adora kneels, too, looking at what she’s seeing. 

Entrapta points to the bite on his shoulder. It looks like all the other bites she’s seen. The veins stemming from it are an eerie neon green, glowing from beneath his skin, stopping at various points on his forearm. 

“The infection,” breathes Entrapta. 

“What? Spit it out,” Adora prompts. 

“Is she always like this?” Frosta mumbles. 

“What’s true about the veins of horde members?” Entrapta says, standing up abruptly and beginning to pace. 

“Um...they’re green?” Adora says. 

“Green, from what?” 

“The infection,” Frosta completes. 

“Exactly. One of the signs of a 100% infected person is that the veins throughout their entire body are green. It starts with the blood near the infection site, of course, and it grows throughout their entire circulatory system.” She spins around, pointing at the man. “ _ Look.”  _

Adora and Frosta turn back to the body, still confused. 

“Don’t you see? The freezer literally  _ stopped  _ the infection! It only made it partially down his arm, to the forearm, before it died. The Horde virus was killed by the temperature, and it stopped spreading completely.” She turns to Adora now, eyes wild. “Don’t you see what this means?” 

Adora is moments away from exploding, begging for an explanation, until… “ _ Oh.”  _

Entrapta nods, smiling. “The cure.” 

“The...cure.” Adora’s head is spinning. “You put a bit person in here, before they’re transformed fully. And the infection  —  it dies.” 

“The trouble, of course, is that the infection may die  _ after  _ the person,” Entrapta continues. “So there’s a major issue with timing. A person mid-transformation would have to be in here long enough to kill the infection, but not so long that the person dies of hypothermia, which may be impossible. And, of course, there’s the chance that it only works if the infection is contained to a non-vital quadrant of the body, such as the arm or leg, as opposed to areas such as the head or neck. And there’s a chance that when the virus is killed...well, that it’ll take the infected person along with it.” She pauses to smile softly at Adora, whose face is still painted in disbelief. “What I’m trying to say, Adora, is that there’s a chance. A small chance. But a chance nonetheless.” 

Frosta looks between the pair, understanding the theory but not its significance. 

Adora closes her eyes.  _ A chance.  _ “We have to leave.” 

“What?” protests Frosta. “You just got here!” 

“We have to leave,” repeats Adora, grabbing Entrapta’s sleeve and dragging her from the freezer. “Bow! Glimmer! We have to leave! Now!” tears cloud her vision, but she presses forward, looking into their shocked faces. “There’s a chance we can save her. We can save Catra.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!! they've got a shot!!!!! sorry for the cliffhanger yesterday that we uhhh extended to today,,, our bad. But let us know what you thought! It’s coming to an end here pretty quick but this has been SO much fun. Thanks for the comments :) - xandrillia


	15. Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what’s happening in catras mind/hallucinations as she transforms into a horde.

* * *

_In high school, she ran track. Shadow Weaver let her attend select courses, and eventually, Catra added the sport to her schedule. Her times were faster than any her coach had seen before, but it wasn’t for training or natural skill. It was simply her need to outrun everything else, to let go and soar for a brief moment before she had to come crashing back to the world, back to her friends and family and all their clutter and noise._

_She wanted to fly._

_That was the best explanation for the light, fluttery feeling she got in her chest whenever she looked at the track in front of her. Whenever someone fought too loud, too close, when she needed to disappear and go somewhere, anywhere else, even just for a moment._

_The rushing high and subsequent drop after finishing a race and putting everything on the line, just to see what she could do. To see who she could be on her own. So close, but never quite enough._

_She remembers: finishing a race, running faster than she should have been capable of. Pushing herself as hard as she could take, holding onto her speed with both hands clenched tight, exhaustion building in her bones but held back by a crashing wave of adrenaline and determination._

_Ones and twos were fun and eights were hell, but fours — 400 meters, one lap around the track — that was where Catra_ flew _. In that minute, nothing else mattered. She could be racing against the best in the nation or just taking to the track alone after practice, trying to fly with her feet on the ground — no matter where she was, everything else always fell away._

_Why can’t it all fall away?_

🛡

_She’s back in the makeshift fighting arena, the lights shining down bright. Adora is there again, her stupid ponytail in shambles from their most recent sparring match, eyes bright._

_Catra frowns at her for a moment, but whatever_ wrong _ness it was that had made her surroundings seem so momentarily out of place is already fading._

 _“C_ _'mon, Catra," Adora says. She lets her eyes roam like she hadn't the entire night as she takes her spot in the center of the ring. “All matched up now_ _— up to you.”_

_“I—” Catra pasues, disoriented. She looks down at herself, at her torn gear and unsheathed knives. The blood is everywhere. She pushes her hair back from her face and her bangs drip thickly, dotting the floor. Too much. “This is wrong.”_

_Adora pauses, concern lighting across her face. She steps forward, tipping her forehead against Catra’s and placing a comforting hand against the side of her face. “What are you talking about?” she asks. “Everything’s perfect.”_

_"No, it's—" Catra cuts off, stepping back out of Adora's reach. She blinks dark spots out of her eyes as Adora's hand falls away from her face, staining it red, a perfect print. The same red print bleeds into view on Adora’s face, a mirror of Catra’s._

_"What is it, Catra?" Adora frowns in concern. She flickers, her clothes briefly replaced by her Wonder Woman costume, same ponytail, crooked smile with the gap between her front teeth. She holds out a hand to Catra, all the eagerness of her child self bright on her face. The lights blink and she's back, the red on her forehead trailing down her temple. Blood drips from her palm, staining the floor._

_“I lied,” Catra confesses._

_Adora seems unbothered. “About?”_

_“I said I’d tell you.” She blinks back tears. “If I heard her again. If she hurt me again. But I didn’t. She said to run away, and I...did.”_

_Adora laughs, waving her hand in the air. “Oh, Catra. You don’t get it.” Adora reaches toward her again, but her hand is distorted, glitching, and within a second, she’s moving faster, too fast now, and—_

_The horde’s fist slams into Catra’s jaw without hesitation, sending her reeling backward, hitting the ground hard. Something connects with her wrist and her blade skids out of her hand and across the concrete, glinting in the midmorning sun. The starburst behind her eyes abates as the zombie approaches her again, messy ponytail and storm blue eyes, torn costume and green lines of infection glinting across its face._

_Scrambling back, Catra gets to her feet. She holds her remaining knife low, ready to strike, but as she lurches forward her foot slips in the blood pooled at her feet and she plunges down,_

_down_

down _, her heart dropping as she hits the sand, weapons gone and hands free._

_Lonnie shouts from the platform, hands over her mouth. Catra rolls onto her back, groaning, knowing her day is about to get a whole lot worse without even mentioning her bruised ribs. The ropes sway sluggishly above her, her hands burning where they slid like sandpaper on her skin. She had made it halfway across, but that wasn’t enough for Shadow Weaver, because she, of all people, stands above Catra now, blocking the moonlight and looking down at Catra with distaste._

_"Always the disappointment, aren't we?" she asks, clicking her tongue. Catra sits up, sand shifting under her palms. Her heart races as panic builds steadily in her chest, fever-bright heat pounding through her veins. Stars blink frantically over Shadow Weaver's head, smearing together in an unnatural array of color, too bright. Catra squints her eyes shut, too disoriented to form a response, but the light only grows behind her eyes, driving blazing lines of pain through her skull._

_The Beast Island leaderboard blinks up at her, Catra's own name replaced by jumbled letters and symbols. The lights are out across the arcade, faded glowing lines from the carpet doing too much to light the abandoned room. She toggles the switch. Across the room, the door slams shut._

_"You really playing that again?" Suddenly at her shoulder, Lonnie crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. "If this is your way of avoiding whatever's been going on with you and—" she waves a hand to the other side of the room, where Adora sits with Kyle and Rogelio. "She-Ra over there, then it must be more complicated than I thought."_

_"It's not," Catra growls, suddenly defensive. Adora catches her eye and smirks. Blood streaks her temple, and the glass where she sits is smeared with crimson handprints. The overhead lights flicker on momentarily, disorienting, and when Catra blinks, the glass is clear. Adora's face is calm, relaxed as she chats with Catra's friends. The light from the floor is soft, highlighting everything in reverse._

_"Mhmm," Lonnie responds, picking up on the look. She absentmindedly brushes sand from her jacket. "Just leave me out of it."_

_“You’re the one that brought it up!” Catra protests. She pretends to be annoyed, but she’s a little relieved to be talking with Lonnie about it, even if it’s all teasing and overreacting. The machine buzzes quietly at her fingertips._

_Lonnie rolls her eyes. “C’mon. It’s time for dinner anyway.”_

_She follows Lonnie to grab their meals and head to the food court, where they sit at joined tables. Mermista flirts mercilessly with one of the new recruits, who blushes and stammers. She’s trying to get back at Sea Hawk, who Mermista believed was flirting with Bow. Catra laughs at the girl’s confusion, and when she turns to leave the room, Adora is suddenly at her side._

_“Hey, you.” she says, bumping her hip against Catra’s. She frowns at Adora, remembering that there’s...something she needs to tell her, but Adora speaks over her thoughts, rambling pointlessly. Catra can’t focus on her words, her voice a faded haze over her clouded mind. Halfway up the stairwell, they run into Sea Hawk, who is holding, of all things,_ _“an...oxygen tank?”_

_Sea Hawk smiles grandly, his eyes shining. “Of course!”_

_“And that’s for…?” Catra trails off, not sure she wants to know the answer. Next to her, Adora shuffles back, wicked black eyes shifting between her and Sea Hawk. Blue, Catra corrects herself, momentarily thrown by her error. Bright_ blue _eyes._

_“For fighting! To protect my dear Mermista!” He turns and fiddles with the valves on his makeshift backpack, gauges spinning wildly. After a moment, they’re greeted with a small hiss coming from the torch’s mouth, and a moment later, Sea Hawk produces something from his pocket with a triumphant laugh._

_“Wh_ — _NO!” Adora grabs Catra’s arm and jumps back as Sea Hawk lights the starter, fire jumping into the oxygen stream. A colossal_ boom _echoes through the stairwell as the fire meets oxygen, heat washing over them, and wow, he really doesn’t know how to use that thing, does he? Sea Hawk’s face pales at the sight of the six-foot long flame in front of him and he struggles to adjust the valves again._

_Catra turns her eyes away from the flame, blinking spots out of her eyes. A reflection bounces off of the walls of the stairwell, black eyes staring her down, the light reflected off the dilated pupils dazzling and overbearing. After a moment of fiddling with the tank, Sea Hawk manages to reduce the flame to a much more manageable length, and the reflection disappears._

_“_ _Wow,” Adora whispers, face flushed. Catra nods in agreement, managing a barely-controlled laugh._

_“Glad he’s on our side.” They exchange a look, smiling a little too giddily, and Catra wants to freeze this moment here, wants to live in it forever, but she knows she’s out of time. Adora’s grip tightens on her hands, too tight. Painful._

_Something rumbles behind her, creaking and groaning. When Catra looks over her shoulder, the wall is gone, a dark, endless space stretching out before her. She turns back to Adora, but the sound grows, coming closer. The stairwell shakes under their feet._

_“Adora,” she starts, but before she can continue, the stairs fall away, white dominoes tipping into the night below, dragging her down, down, down into an endless sky._

🛡️

_Tonight, her soul is tied to the ground. She can’t run, can’t breathe. Can’t fly. The sky surrounds her, but her feet remain planted firmly on the ground. There’s nowhere to go, so she reaches for the stars, always just out of reach. In the past, they were always a comfort to her — no matter what happened down on earth, the sky would remain eternal. The stars didn’t care about Catra’s insignificant problems. They didn’t care about the big ones, either — the deadly virus taking the planet, and those fighting back._

_They simply watched, blinking curiously in the night._

_She takes a deep breath, trying to come back to herself. Catra knows this is a losing battle, but she can’t help but hold on as long as she can. She’s seen the transition before_ _—_ _from human to horde and back again, the constant shifting more painful than the actual transition itself. Catra doesn’t want to stick around when the change happens — she’s not planning on watching herself fall. When she goes under, she’s not coming back up for air._

_Catra finds herself on a rooftop. She’s not exactly sure how that happened, but she remembers a long stairwell, white walls and red stairs. Someone shouting — her own voice, or someone else’s? Or maybe it’s in her head — maybe she’s still in the Fright Zone, and her family is at risk…_

_The stars watch without remorse._

_Catra should have known. She never had flown on her own, and she never would. There was a difference between running and flying, and when her memories held her down, tied her so tightly to the ground, it was impossible for her feet to ever leave the earth._

_She will fall alone, but that’s alright._

_The wind in her hair._

_The track, racing beneath her feet._

_Stars, so distant but so close, so personal. Watching, seeing, impartial to it all._

_Her friends, beckoning her forward._

_Flying, soaring,_

_gliding,_

_falling._

_Anchors, dragging her down._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is my third attempt at posting this from my phone bc the power has been out for 7 hours so. this better work. anyway thanks for all the lovely comments, sorry we left you on a cliffhanger again 😭😭 - xandrillia


	16. Once Upon a Time in the Waste

The lights are out across the city, only a faint glow coming from the direction of the mall. There’s enough distance that she won’t put them in danger, however this night ends. Whenever this night ends.

Let it end.

She drifts above the city skyline, gaze unfocused. The breeze is cool against her fever-hot skin. She blinks and she’s on the street, looking through eyes that aren’t her own, eyes that were human but are now something less. The gaze steadies above, on a woman at the edge of the roof above her line of sight. The woman’s hand is on her sheathed sword, hands visibly shaking even from this distance and something behind her shifts, red and yellow and—

“Catra?”

She snaps back into place, the rooftop tipping beneath her as she reenters her own mind. Catra turns unsteadily, her eyes skipping distractedly across the roof until they fall on Adora.  
Adora, away from home at the edge of night, a spot of color in a world rapidly losing life.

The words take too long to form in her mouth and they’re quiet when she speaks them, but the world stills for the two of them, letting them be the center of their own universe for a moment.

“Hey, Adora.”

Adora huffs out a quick breath, almost a laugh, a product of exhausted relief. Catra sees the worry in her eyes, the pain she caused Adora. The pain she always causes.

“Catra,” she breathes, voice mixed in hope and fear. “Can you hear me? It’s me. It’s Adora.” 

“You’re not real,” Catra responds, the effort causing the world to swirl beneath her. Nausea rises in her stomach and she fights the urge to sink to her knees to find some sense of balance, instead pressing her hands tighter to her stomach. She can’t speak past the panic in her throat, the countless pairs of eyes across the city, watching her turn into their master. Waiting for her summons.

“No, Catra. I’m real. I came for you, Catra, I’m here.” 

She steps forward, but Catra halts her with a raised hand, coughing and struggling out the words: “It’s too late.”

Tears fill Adora’s eyes. “No! No, I’m here, _please_ , we can fix this—”

“ _Adora_ ,” she protests, her voice shaking. Why did she have to make this so difficult? Why did she have to do this, to both of them? Why didn’t Catra run further, faster, taking the danger with her? Darkness grows behind her eyes and she blinks it back, trying to ground herself. Too few steps away, Adora waits, eyes frantic and hands reaching.

“Why did you come back? We both know I’m too far gone,” Catra asks, stepping away. Her calves hit the ledge of the roof behind her. Adora shouldn’t have come back — Catra knows a lost cause when she sees one, because that’s what she is, isn’t she? It has always been too late for her. There is no fixing this, there is no saving her — there never was. Shadow Weaver laughs in the back of her mind, seething anger turned to crooked delight at Catra’s defeat.

A spark of pain behind her eyes and her viewpoint shifts again to the eyes of another. She sees two women, dark jacket and a smudge of blonde hair clarifying in her blurry vision. She presses her palms against her eyes, shuttering the vision, trying to pull herself back to her own body. She will fall, but she cannot go while Adora is here. She cannot put her in more danger. She cannot be the reason for her death.

The world is too bright, too dark to see and so much, all jagged and too confusing. Is this real? Is Adora real, or is the girl standing in front of Catra a creation of her own mind, a last-ditch attempt at survival? At hope? Adora is a spot of light in the coming dark, reaching forward and desperate for safety. Desperate for Catra.

“I came back for you,” Adora says, shaking. It takes a moment for Catra to place her response with her own question, tying them together. “I need you here, I need you. I can’t do this alone and you—you’re—you’re the _only_ thing that...” she steps forward again and again Catra retreats, her calves hitting the ledge behind her.

“You can’t be here,” she repeats. “I’m...seeing things, Adora, I’m in their minds. I’m the other ones, I’m all of them—we’re waiting. You have to run.” 

“I’m not afraid of you, Catra.” Adora’s voice falls away, and Catra wants only to know what Adora can’t tell her, but her blood is rushing in her ears and she grimaces, bending over and trying not to cry out at the burning heat pressing this nightmare into her head, sending her thoughts scattering. “And I’m not letting you go.”

Why had Catra thought she could do this?

She can’t hold on.

She can’t stay here.

She’s not enough.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Adora looks at her, disbelief in her eyes. Catra takes a breath, letting herself shut out all the other noise of the night. All the voices shouting at her, telling her who she needs to be for the team, who she has to be to save the others. Telling her to give up and save Adora, because she can’t count on anyone to stick around to be with her.  
Just for a moment. To hear what Adora has to say. Catra’s hands steady. Adora steps forward, meeting her gaze. 

How did Catra let her get so close?

🗡️🛡️

How did Adora let her stray so far? 

She’s on a roof, somewhere, miles from the city, miles from the Kingdom of Snows, and she’s standing there, swaying, when Adora finds her. Her clothes are torn and her skin is sheened in sweat, and she’s facing off the building. Adora can’t see her, can’t tell if she’s already gone, so finding her brings little relief. 

She takes a breath, puts her hand on her sword, and takes the chance: “Catra?” 

The woman turns. Blinks slowly. Eyes black, pupils crowding out the color, until, briefly, _finally_ , they come back: blue and yellow. It’s her. 

Adora waits for her to speak. Can she speak? Is it too good to be true? 

It’s a struggle for her to get out, but she does it. “Hey, Adora.”

Adora laughs, despite herself, but the happiness washes over her in a wave she can’t stop. She wipes a tear from her eye. “Catra, can you hear me? It’s me.” She smiles, feeling the wetness on her cheeks. “It’s Adora.” 

Catra’s eyes flash black. “You’re not real.” She grabs her stomach and groans, looking frantic. 

Adora’s heart breaks. “No, Catra. I’m here. I came for you, Catra, _I’m here_.” Adora takes a step forward - all she wants to do is grab her, to hold her, to prove that she’d never leave her - but Catra raises her hand. 

“It’s too late,” she manages out. 

The tears flow steadily now, and Adora’s _angry_. Why is she like this? Why did she have to do this to the both of them? “No! _No!_ I’m here, _please_ , we can fix this—” 

“Adora…” Catra says, cutting her off with all her effort. She, too, looks angry now, angry and scared. “Why did you come back? We both know I’m too far gone.” Adora watches her stumble backwards, too close to the ledge, and Adora reaches out. Before she can grab her, though, Catra groans, her voice growing into a scream. Her eyes go fully black and she stills for a moment, looking forward like she’s seeing something Adora can’t. 

_Oh._ That’s because she is. The realization hits Adora fast. Catra, someone who’s always _despised_ control, who’s hated the leadership that was consistently thrust upon her, now controls the minds of thousands, now will cause the deaths of thousands. Adora whimpers involuntarily as Catra stumbles blindly for a moment, cursing the world for making this situation even harder. 

Adora takes a breath once Catra steadies. “I came back for you,” she cries out, desperate. “I need you here, I _need_ you, I can’t do this alone and you—”

_Say it._

“You’re—you’re the _only_ thing that...”

“You can’t be here,” Catra interrupts. “I’m...seeing things, Adora, I’m in their minds.” She grabs her head, clenching so hard against her temple that it draws blood. “I’m the other ones, I’m all of them—we’re waiting. You have to run.” 

_Tell her._

“I’m not afraid of you, Catra. I’m not letting you go.” 

Catra isn’t paying attention. She doesn’t understand. She’ll never understand. She can’t believe it’s true. She’ll never believe it. 

_That’s not true._

It is true. No matter what is said. She doesn’t believe she’s worth it. 

_She is worth it._

She’s worth it. But she doesn’t know. 

_So tell her._

_Tell her, Adora._

_Tell her._

Adora steps forward, a small smile tugging at the corner of her face, because Catra’s so _stupid_. And she laughs, a little laugh of disbelief, because it’s so, _so_ obvious. “You...you don’t get it, do you?” Adora softens her gaze on her, and Catra finally, finally seems to be paying attention. She focuses on Adora - _really_ focuses, blue and yellow shining bright through the darkness trying to swallow them, and she’s steadying, and she’s breathing, and she’s scared, and she’s almost gone, and Adora loves her. 

“I love you.”

🗡️🛡️

Catra hears her, but the voice’s response is immediate, because it always is. It doesn’t even give her time to think, and it doesn’t give her time for her heart to swell. _No, she doesn’t._

And she obeys it. Because that’s all she ever does. “No, you don’t.”

🗡️🛡️

_Don’t give up._

“I have for a long time,” Adora continues, despite Catra’s response, despite everything. “And I couldn’t tell you, because I’m weak, and because I’m stupid, and because you’re not. Because you’re so strong, and you’re so beautiful, and you’re everything I want, and I couldn’t tell you. When you left, Catra, when I thought you were gone...I felt like I’d lost everything. I’d lost everything I had left. Catra, _you’re_ what I have left. You’re my best friend, Catra, but I love you more than that. I’ve never said that to anyone. I’ve never _felt_ this for anyone before, Catra, but I know what it is, and I _know_ you might not love me back in the same way, but I’m not going to give you up this easily. I’m not going to leave you here. Catra, you have to trust me, just this once. Trust that I love you. Trust that no matter what happens, you will always, _always_ be worth it. And trust…” she reaches her hand out, ignores the tears welling in her eyes. “Trust that I can get us out of this, Catra. If you’ll just take my hand, I can get us out of this. You’re not lost yet. You have to believe me.”

🗡️🛡️

Catra waits. 

Shadow Weaver will arrive. She always does. And she always will. Until Catra’s death, she’ll carry her with her, in her brain, in her thoughts, in her life, anywhere she can fit, and she’ll be here soon. 

And yet…

Nothing. 

Silence. 

Nothing, but the buzzing of Catra’s own mind. 

She’s alone. 

No, no, she’s not alone. She’s with Adora. 

“I…” Catra says, faltering for a moment as the virus bites at her shoulder blades, a constant reminder of the severity of the situation. “I...I…” 

“You don’t have to say it back,” Adora rasps. “You just have to come with me.” 

“No, no…” Catra responds alone, and it’s the easiest thing in the world, because there really is no other response, is there? “I...I love you, too.” 

It’s easy, because she knew, because she _always_ knew. Because she sees the love in everything Adora does, in her dumb jokes and stupid bantering and deep conversations and fleeting touches. She sees it now, in the pain in her eyes and the small smile on her face. Catra knew, because Catra reflected it back like a mirror, because she’s glass, and it was so _easy_ , because it’s what she was built to do.

If Adora is surprised at Catra’s response, she doesn’t show it. She just presses her hand forward again, urgent. “Then trust me. Come with me. We can fix this.”

For a moment, the wind stills. Catra lowers her eyes, staring at her palm, green and black turning to blazing colors.

She is real, and she is here, and Catra trusts her.

She believes in her.

Adora stretches her hand out further. Tears blur Catra’s vision. “You can trust me,” Adora whispers, her voice breaking. “I promise.”

 _Promise._ Catra broke her side of the deal - she didn’t talk to Adora, didn’t tell her before she left. She didn’t trust herself to speak the truth, and maybe that was because part of her still hadn’t trusted Adora, even though everything in her begged her to just believe in someone, for once, without fear or regret. Despite the fact that Adora would never give up on her. And maybe, Catra didn’t tell her because part of her didn’t want to see Adora’s reaction to the confession. 

Disgust, anger, hurt. Betrayal.

Even though

 _Even though_ she lied, Catra is sure of one thing.

Adora won’t.

She won’t lie.

She won’t let her down.

She won’t let go.

She loves her.

Catra reaches out, knowing that Adora will hold her the second Catra lets her.

“Adora-”

The night splits in two, dark and light, burning green light and blurred stars. The virus, fighting back against the life that the confession gave her, vigor and strength and power.  
The roof beneath her shifts, a shudder racing through her body, sending her stumbling backward, moments from the edge. Moments, no, not moments, because she’s there, she’s falling, she’s looking upwards as the stars burn bright above her, painfully hot and then ice cold because there’s nothing beneath her and because she’s always falling and there’s nowhere safe to land as she tumbles toward-

_home_

because she’s in Adora’s arms now, and there’s nowhere else she could be that would make her feel this grounded, this much herself in this moment of panic. Adora pulls her back from the edge, back from the brink. They stumble toward the middle of the roof, collapsing over themselves in a heap, both gasping for breath and shaking, too unfocused to think about the drop beneath her, lights and hard stone below.

Adora’s arms tighten and Catra reaches back herself, pulling Adora tighter and burying her face in her neck. There’s not much time — too little, never enough and definitely not for what she has to say — but she takes this moment, breathing in shakily, Adora’s breath hot against her cheek.

Then, she pulls back as Adora’s words hit her again. The words roll over her like calm rain after a raging storm, pausing the battle inside her for a brief moment. 

“Catra?” Adora whispers, worried, because she’s always worried. 

“Take me with you,” Catra responds, her voice more powerful than she expected. “Help me. I trust you.”


	17. Save the Cat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buckle up folks -anyonesaunt

The walk through the city is torture. Adora fights for both of them, but their pace is slow and she barely keeps up with the attacks as she drags Catra along with her, avoiding groups of hordes where they can. The best Catra can do is stay out of the way while Adora fights, Catra herself facing her own inner battle.

Adora scans their surroundings, trying to get their bearings. They’ve got a couple blocks to go before the kingdom, but if they can—

Catra’s voice interrupts her thought process. “Three coming from the south,” she mutters, taking her arm from Adora’s shoulder to press her hands to her eyes. Adora turns quickly, but there’s nothing there.

“Catra, are you su—" Adora gasps and lifts her sword as a horde appears around a corner, eyes fixed on the two women. “Get back!” Adora calls over her shoulder, taking a step toward the creature. Catra sits down heavily on a curb, leaning over her knees.

The horde approaches swiftly, eyes focused, but pauses halfway down the block. Adora raises her blade.

“Any day now,” she mutters, waiting for it to advance.

“They’re coming,” Catra says from behind her. Adora doesn’t want to leave Catra, even for a brief moment, but she can’t wait for the horde’s reinforcements. She steps forward, and as if on cue, two more lumber out from a broken store window to flank their leader.

Evidently, these are all the hordes that will show for this fight, because they step forward in unison, made ten times as deadly for the Prime. For _Catra._ Adora steps to meet them and the battle is quick, although she doesn’t escape unscathed. Pressing a hand to her jaw, she grimaces as the street tips beneath her feet, lights sharpening in streaks, but she can’t worry about that now. The sun, near the horizon when she and Catra left the rooftop, has now completely set. Danger grows by the minute.

“Sorry,” Catra mutters behind her.

Adora blinks. “What?”

“It was — it was me. I called them. I didn’t mean to.” As if Adora needed any more confirmation as to what Catra is becoming — a Prime, commanding the others, leading them straight to her.

“It’s okay. C’mon.” Adora sheathes her sword at her side and kneels next to Catra. For a moment her eyes glint black. Adora suppresses a shiver and pulls Catra’s arm over her shoulders, dragging her to her feet. She glances at their surroundings again. “Any more?”

Catra shakes her head. “Not if we go east.”

“Shit,” Adora whispers, following the suggestion. It’ll take them a little out of the way, but any fight they can avoid right now is crucial — Adora doesn’t know how much longer she can go on like this.

Eventually, the blue and white storefront appears ahead of them. Catra’s steps slow. “C’mon, Catra,” Adora pleads. “You’ve never given up on anything in your life — don’t you _dare_ start now.” Adora grits her teeth and keeps walking.

Catra’s eyes are closed, and when she doesn’t respond, Adora slides one arm under her knees and picks her up, jogging now. It’s dangerous to have her hands full, but Adora doesn’t really have a choice and they’re so, _so_ close. She’s worth the risk.

Catra says something again, but it’s too quiet and Adora doesn’t have the breath to ask what it was. She tips her head against Adora’s shoulder, eyes unfocused.

“Where…?” she mutters, squinting her eyes shut.

“Glimmer’s—dad—” she huffs, checking over her shoulder again. “They’ve got — it’s a cure. For you. The freezer, there’s a chance it can freeze the virus, stop it from spreading, kill it.”

Catra hums noncommittally, clearly not listening very closely. Adora doesn’t bother to tell her that it might not work. 

The store’s front door, only two blocks away, now, opens. Frosta steps out, hands on her hips and one foot propping the door open. For a moment Adora thinks she’ll shout, alerting more zombies of their position, but she simply waves her hand in a _hurry up_ gesture, as if Adora needs someone to tell her to get a move on.

Adora stumbles with a stifled shout as Catra shifts, her arm falling from Adora’s shoulders. She’d been helping Adora, earlier, but now it seems she’s lost all her strength. She’s lying limp in Adora’s arms like a bride being carried over the threshold, and the sight makes Glimmer tear up and Bow cover his eyes. They back up as Adora shoulders her way past Frosta, out of breath.

Inside, Entrapta is all business. She rushes up to Catra, taking her temperature quickly and explaining the situation. “112.8 degrees fahrenheit. Not fully transformed, yet, because the Prime transformation process takes a while...I’d say that she has maybe half an hour left, but I’ve never seen it up close before. I lowered the freezer temperature as cold as it could go. She’ll have to stay in there until the virus dies, and I have no idea how long that will take. Could be five minutes, could be twenty. She’ll die of hypothermia if it takes longer than eighteen, I’d say.” She stops and looks up at Adora, scratching her neck. “I hate it when this happens, Adora, but I just don’t know. I don’t know if it will work.” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Adora says, looking down at Catra. Her eyes are shut tight. “We have to try.”

“Catra? Can you hear me?” Entrapta leans close to her face. 

“Mm...yeah,” she mumbles, barely coherent. 

“Where were you bit?” 

“Not bit...scratched…” she weakly gestures to her back. 

“I see,” Adora whispers. “Her veins are turning green. On the back of her neck.” 

“You’re running out of time. Go.” Entrapta steps to the side. “ _Go._ ” 

Adora nods and moves forward. 

Micah opens the freezer door for her. He nods as Adora walks in, and she’s grateful for his silent support. 

Boy, it’s cold. 

She picks the far corner. Frosta had the foresight to move all of the other frozen bodies out of the freezer so that they would be alone. Once there, she crumples to her feet, adjusting Catra so that her head is in her lap. Her eyes are still closed and she seems unable to move, but she’s breathing. Thank God, she’s breathing. 

“Adora?” she whispers, her voice a croak. 

“Yes?” Adora tries to hide the chattering of her teeth in her response.

“Wh...what are you doing in here? It’s too cold. You…” she coughs, struggles to open her eyes. Too much black, too little color. “You have to leave.” 

Adora smiles, swiping a sweaty strand of hair from Catra’s face. “I’m staying.” 

“You...you could die.” 

“So could you,” she says, cradling Catra’s head, letting their foreheads touch. “And I’m not letting you do it alone.” 

🗡️🛡️

Catra has thousands of protests. Millions, probably. But Adora’s so warm, and the world is so, so cold. She tries to focus on Adora, but with the lights haloing her head, she’s almost too painful to look at. _Almost._

Earlier, Catra couldn’t bring herself to look at her. Now, she can’t look away.

She knows she’s falling. She has to believe Adora will catch her, but if she can’t…

This isn’t the worst way to go. Not with Adora here, running her hand through Catra’s hair and speaking in a low, buzzing voice, although Catra can’t make out the words. Close. Familiar.

Home.

The lights blur, and Adora’s voice fades.

🗡️🛡️

Ten minutes go by. Eleven. Catra’s lost the strength to speak. She just coughs, and shivers, and pulls at Adora’s jacket, and Adora holds her closer. 

Adora watches her eyes flick from brilliant color to black, over and over and over. 

Twelve, and the veins grow longer. They creep over her neck, over her shoulders, glowing an eerie fluorescent green. Adora traces them with her finger, wipes a frozen tear from her cheek. 

She talks to her. She talks to her through blue lips, frozen and chapped and broken, she talks because she can never stop talking, and because there’s a thousand things she needs to say. 

She uses a thousand words. All of them mean the same thing: 

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

After fourteen minutes, Catra’s eyes go dark, and they stay that way. 

Adora stares at them, and Catra stares back blankly, emotionless, lifeless. 

Black. 

Adora gently shuts Catra’s eyelids with her fingertips, because she can’t look at them, because she can’t watch the life drain from them any further, because she can’t do this again. 

🗡️🛡️

“She wants to see you,” the doctor says, looking at Adora, sympathy dotting his expression. “Um...only you.” 

Adora clings to her mother’s jeans, and she looks down at her, and she smiles. “It’s okay, Adora.” 

And Adora says nothing, because it’s not. 

“Go on. I’ll be right outside the door.” She gives her a gentle nudge forward, because Adora needs it. “Please.” 

Mara looks shriveled, like the oxygen tank is sucking air out of her instead of the other way round, and Adora doesn’t like it. 

Her chest rises and falls timed to the beep of the scary monitor, and her face is sullen, her bones too sharp, everything too brittle. 

“Adora,” she says, smiling, but she coughs immediately afterwards, a hollow and broken sound. “My little Wonder Woman.” 

“Mara,” Adora whimpers, the gap in her teeth whistling, and she can’t do it. 

“Come here,” she says, holding out a hand. “Come closer.” 

Adora doesn’t want to. 

“Please.” 

Her steps are timid. She holds her stuffed cat — Melog — close to her chest, and with her other hand, she takes Mara’s. 

It’s too thin. She holds it lightly, because any pressure, and Adora imagines it will break. 

“How are you?” Mara asks, because she’s never thinking about herself. 

And Adora just cries. 

“I love you, you know that?” 

Adora nods. 

“Adora…” she turns her head, lying it flat on the pillow, and Adora loves her. “I’m worried about you.” 

Adora squeezes Melog.

“I’m worried about whether you'll be okay when I’m gone.” 

Adora looks at Mara’s fingernails, pink, Adora painted them last week. 

“You can be okay, if you let yourself. If you let people in. You’ve always let me in, Adora, but you’ll have to find someone else.” 

Adora can’t do it. 

“It’s hard, keeping your heart open.” Mara’s eyes are glassier than the pond they used to skate on. 

“It makes you vulnerable.” Her skin is thinner than the paper they would fold into airplanes. 

“But it doesn’t make you weak.” Her smile is brighter than the stars they would wish on as day turned into dark, dark night. 

“It’s worth it, Adora.” She holds Adora’s hand tight with the only strength she has left, and Adora tries to understand. 

“If I learned one thing in this life, it’s that you have to believe it’s worth it.” 

🗡️🛡️

Catra’s eyes stay closed. Her skin grows cold. The green lines creep down her arms, thin marks across her cheekbones. Her breathing slows, and then it stops, and everything is still. 

Was it worth it?

It was a hard question then, and it is again now, but Adora knows. 

Catra’s gone, and her hair is stiff with sweat, and her body is limp in her arms, and Adora loves her, and it was worth it. 

When she kisses her, it’s for the first time, but it’s also for the last time.

Catra’s lips are cold against Adora’s lips, and Catra’s face is cold against her palms, and she thinks she’ll stay like this forever, she thinks she’ll freeze up here, with her, frozen in time, and she’ll be gone, too, they’ll both be gone, and it’ll have been worth it. 

And Catra kisses her back. 

Wait. 

No, it can’t be. 

And yet—

Slowly, sure, but, her lips are moving. Timid, but they grow bolder. 

And Adora freezes, but not because of the cold. 

She pulls back. 

Catra’s eyes are still closed. Her chest is still motionless. 

Until

A single, shuddering breath. 

Catra’s eyes flicker open. Bright. Peaceful. _Alive._

_Blue and yellow, yellow and blue._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cried in the club (my bedroom floor) watching A write the mara scene it’s fine i’m fine it’s all good great wonderful. ALSO THEY KISSEDDDDDDDDDDDDD - xandrillia
> 
> yes they did kiss but admittedly it was the saddest kiss in the world sorry everyone i just love pain :) -anyonesaunt
> 
> EDIT: just be aware, there are only 17 chapters and an epilogue to this! the last 'chapter' is just us screwing around lmao so. don't expect writing there!! ok have fun! <3 -x


	18. Epilogue

Four months later

Catra strides through the fence, locking the door behind her. The grounds are bustling outside the mall, the newest caravan preparing to leave at sunrise. The dawn sky lights their preparations.

“Catra!”

She turns to the voice. Entrapta waves from Emily’s driver’s seat, grinning. She hooks an arm over the side of the door.

“Sure you’re not coming with?”

Catra shakes her head. “I’ve got enough here to keep me busy. Besides, you, Scorpia, and Perfuma will be great leaders. Just get everyone there and back safely, okay?” She gives Entrapta a knowing look. 

Entrapta agrees with a smile, promising to keep her explosive experiments outside in the future. Catra steps back, surveying the team.

They’re twenty strong, a group made up of those who want to travel in what way they can. Most of them had been a part of Entrapta’s search last month to find patient zero — they’d come across Dr. Hordak Stevenson’s failed mind control experiment in the Northern Reaches, a project that had rocked the world. After studying Catra and other survivors of the infection, Entrapta had recognized similarities to her old lab partner’s work. Catra wasn’t surprised to learn he’d been kicked out of grad school on charges of malfeasance, a story which Entrapta had told with much enthusiasm. Filled with rage and a desire for control, Hordak began Project Horde to infect and overpower the minds of thousands. Although the project went horribly wrong and he was the first to succumb to the virus’s effects, Entrapta suspects that he would have approved of the result nonetheless. Even before the apocalypse, she had kept more than slightly lethal company.

The team drives out, six vehicles filled with weapons, supplies, and arguably most importantly, laminated cards. The same print shop Rogelio had printed the She-Ra posters in had come in hand once again, but this time, to save countless lives. After Catra’s miraculous survival, Entrapta had whipped up notes on how to survive the infection — describing temperatures, timeframes, and more. Everything was then carefully outlined and printed on cards, which teams like these hand out to survivors across the nation with every trip they take.

Already, they’ve heard stories of other survivors, coming back from the brink, living to fight another day. The news of the so-called “cure” will only spread, creating a new generation of survivors, smarter and braver than the last. 

She closes the gate behind the cars, the rising sun lighting the sky orange. On the roof, a woman waits, outlined in gold.

Catra smiles and goes to meet her.

🗡️🛡️

Catra feels a stab of disappointment when she sees that Adora isn’t alone. Then she sees who is there — Bow and Glimmer — and the feeling dissipates. Bow waves as she weaves through the garden to them, ducking past spreading leaves. They have gardens growing on nine rooftops across the city and throughout the entire park to the north, but this is the original and the oldest.

“Hey, everyone,” Catra greets with a smile. She links her arm with Adora’s.

“Hey yourself,” Adora responds. Then: “Glimmer?”

Catra straightens. Adora’s voice is expectant, like Glimmer has something planned she wants to say.

“Oh,” Glimmer says quietly. “I...I don’t really want to tell her.” 

Adora smiles supportively. “Go on. She’ll like it. I promise.” 

Catra’s ears perk up as Glimmer sighs, knowing Adora is right. “Okay, okay. I was just talking to Bow and Adora. About...um, about your scars.”

Catra reaches instinctively to her back. The scars Glimmer refers to are the scratches that caused her infection, deep red lines that cover most of her upper back, curved and mirrors of one another, carved by two undead hands.

“It’s just…” Glimmer sighs again, having trouble finding the words. “You...you never knew my mom.” She focuses on the distant sky, looking at something no one else can see. “She was an incredible person. Kind. Loving. I’m not sure I appreciated her as much as I should have. Her name was Angella.” 

“Pretty name,” Catra murmurs. 

“Yeah. She believed in them, too—angels, I mean.” Glimmer glances at her palms, shaking slightly. Bow takes her hand and she continues. “She said that if anything ever happened to us, to separate us, she’d ask them to look out for me in her place.” She blinks the fog from her eyes. “It’s just...your scars, Catra. Have you ever noticed they look like wings?” 

Catra blinks, shocked. “I...no. I haven’t.”

Glimmer smiles sadly. “When my mom— when we lost her, I thought that that was it. But I think they — I think this is her telling me that she’s still with us. In her own way. That...this is right, what we have going, what we’ve built. That finding you guys...this is how it’s supposed to be.” She sniffs, and Bow pulls her into a hug. 

Catra doesn’t know what to say. Only one thing comes to mind: “Thank you.”

Glimmer looks up from Bow’s chest. “For...what?” 

“For telling me.” She feels Adora snake her arm around her waist. “It’s hard, you know, to feel as though anything is right. What with the world as wrong as it is. But you’re right. This...what we have...it’s good.” 

Glimmer nods. “We’re a team, now, and despite everything, I think this is as good as it can get.”

“Best Friend Squad,” Bow whispers, laughing. They each smile, relieved to be a part of something bigger than just themselves — relieved to have a home. Adora rubs a circle against Catra’s hip, and Catra leans against her shoulder. Seeing the movement, Bow turns to Glimmer and whispers something. She straightens her skirt.

“Well, I think it’s time for Bow and I to turn in. We’ll leave you two alone.” She smiles at Adora before grabbing Bow by the forearm, leading him off the roof.

Catra rolls her eyes at the look Glimmer gives her, eyes flicking between her and Adora.

“So,” Adora says, once they’re gone. Her expression turns serious for a moment. “I’ve been meaning to ask you — have you heard her?” She looks down to their hands, fingers interlaced. “Shadow Weaver, I mean.”

“I’d tell you if I have,” Catra responds, and she’s not lying. “But no. Not since that day.” She squeezes her hand. “I don’t think I ever will again.” 

Adora doesn’t say anything. She just pulls Catra in the same way she does every day, making up for lost time, filling in the unspoken words. Catra smiles, tilting her head a little, and when she kisses her back, it’s like the sunrise, slow and warm and sweet and Adora can’t help but smile against her mouth, still in awe of her girlfriend. _Girlfriend._

Someone clears their throat. 

Catra turns, sourcing the sound. 

Freaking Kyle. 

“H—hey guys, really, um, really sorry to interrupt, but—they’re looking for you down in the Fright Zone.” He swallows nervously, glancing between them. “They brought in a new group that wants to join.” 

Catra looks at Adora, stifles a laugh. “Yeah, I’ll be right down.” 

Kyle nods and awkwardly shuffles down the ladder. 

“Go get em, tiger,” Adora says jokingly, and Catra takes her hands from Adora’s waist, briefly brushing them against her jacket. Hopping onto the ladder, she gives Adora a sarcastic salute.

“Come find me, after dinner,” she calls before stepping down, looking at her girlfriend.

Adora leans against the railing and smiles. “Oh? Why?” 

“I think I have something of yours.” Catra grins, revealing Adora’s key to their shared bedroom and waving it teasingly. 

Adora pats her pockets — empty — and laughs. “Once a pickpocket, always a pickpocket, huh? Annoying.” 

“Oh, you love me,” Catra says with a wink, pocketing the key and descending down the ladder. 

“Yeah,” Adora says, turning to watch the sun break over the city skyline, orange and pink and gold, the beginning of a new day, but more than just that. Today marks something new. Something beautiful and bold, something shared between them, something that’s worth it.

“Yeah, I do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we wanted the ending to mirror the ending of the show - i.e., adora’s love for catra essentially saves the universe. i hope it did not disappoint. if you’ve made it through the whole thing, i can’t thank you enough. you’ve just read a fanfiction longer than slaughterhouse-five (my favorite book). writing this was so much fun and im so grateful for the support we got all the way through. you guys r the best<3 -anyonesaunt
> 
> thank you to everyone who read this! it was so much fun to write and see everyone's reactions to this - we appreciate all the comments so much. y'all are great, tysm!!! :,) - xandrillia


	19. no update, just memes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> literally just a bunch of memes about the fic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooo A made a meme abt the last 4 chapters at 2am a few nights ago and here we are!! idk lmao. these were ridiculously fun to make (the last one is my fav sdjs thank u A) so we hope y'all like them!! <3 -x

mermista:

^i just thought this was an excellent text from a <3 -x

****

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos if you enjoyed!! And if you leave a nice comment we WILL facetime and cry. here's my [twitter](https://twitter.com/xandrillia).


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